Casa d'Ora
by Twyla Mercedes
Summary: AU Rumbelle romance set in the early years of World War II. The plot line meshes with my favorite old movie but (for those who recognize old movie plotlines) I promise the ending will be satisfying for all the hopeful romantics out there).
1. A New Waitress

**A.N. This is a project that has been in my mind for awhile. It is a meshing of an old classic movie with the OUAT players (and, I promise, with a different ending for the sentimentalists among us). As many of my stories do, this one will start out a bit slowly with the second major character not coming along until Chapter Three. (and no, I own nothing). txm**

CHAPTER ONE

A New Waitress is Hired

This is a time of war in Europe. Hundreds, thousands of refugees are fleeing before the invading armies. Many eyes turn hopefully, desperately, towards the freedom of the Americas.

Lisbon becomes the great embarkation point. But not everybody can get to Lisbon directly, so a torturous, roundabout refugee trail springs up. Paris by train to Marseilles, in the south of France. Then across the Mediterranean by boat to Oran, on the northern coast of Africa. Then by train, by car or by foot across the rim of Africa to Casa d'Ora, one of the last remaining free ports on the northwest side of the Dark Continent. There, the fortunate ones, through money or influence or luck might obtain exit visas and scurry on to Lisbon.

And from Lisbon to the New World.

But the others wait in Casa d'Ora.

and wait. . .and wait. . .and wait.

But so many others have given up waiting.

They are prepared to die in Casa d'Ora

In the back streets, cluttered with the unkempt remains of the market place, refuse, trash, dirt, is the unhygienic jetsam that the human populace has left behind. In one of these alleyways, in the dark corridor that stretched behind the café-casino were large trash receptacles, filled with the remains of a hundred diners' meals.

The young woman, her clothes once fine, but now ragged from constant wear, is scavenging in the trash bins, pulling out and sorting through the food, working in the dim light provided by the moon and the little bit of light that leaches out from around the kitchen door and a few back windows of the cafe.

Half-eaten food, left by satisfied diners. Maybe there would be enough, enough that would provide her a meal, that would keep her going for another day. She had found this place a week ago and it was almost always good for at least one meal.

But it was water that she really wanted. Water was harder to come by than food in the brittlely hot climate of Casa d'Ora. She had quickly learned that the alcohol left in the bottles would not quench her thirst, would actually make things worse. She had learned to avoid liquor if she wanted to be even marginally functional the next day. She had learned to avoid liquor if she was to be safe from the night predators. It was difficult enough to avoid them without being tipsy.

So intent was she upon sorting through the discarded food that she didn't hear the kitchen door open. Only when the person spoke was she aware she had been caught.

"Oh, you poor thing. I see you're back again."

It was an older woman, kindly, concerned.

"Don't be eating from the garbage can, child. Come on in, I can give you a proper meal," the woman was firm and insistent.

"But I have no money, no way to pay," the young woman spoke. She knew she had to be careful here. Sometimes people would say there would be no payment but then. . . well then, she would find out that there was payment expected.

"I can use some help in scrubbing some of the pots and pans. Can you do that?" the older woman asked.

_Honest work. She could do that._ Hesitantly, timidly, she nodded and warily approached the older woman.

"Come child, the night air gets chilly, even though the day is hotter than perdition."

The older woman led her into an immaculate kitchen. Everything was swept, wiped down, shined up and otherwise sparkling with on-going attention to detail. The young woman was settled in at the end of a large prep table. The older woman began to fill her a plate. _Where were the pots and pans that needed scrubbing?_

"I was going to have to discard this anyway. Glad to see it going to fill somebody's belly." The older woman stacked a plate with vegetables, some type of meat, bread, even some fruit, and put it in front of the young woman.

"Something to drink with this?" the older woman asked her.

"Water please," the young woman responded and after a brief moment, finding it all too hard to resist, she dug into the plate. She ate steadily for the next ten minutes, alternately stuffing her mouth, chewing and swallowing. She went through three glasses of water.

"You might want to hold off a bit," the older woman warned her. "If you haven't eaten in a while, too much, too soon could give you a bellyache."

The younger woman nodded. She knew this to be true and began to slow up her eating pace.

"This is very good food," she told the older woman between mouthfuls.

The older woman smiled. "Fallen on hard times, my dear?"

The young woman nodded, before taking another mouthful.

The older woman knew the story. "Like so many others nowadays. They all seem to be coming into Casa d'Ora. Coming in from Oran, from Marseilles, from Paris, from who knows where. Pouring into town and all hoping for an exit visa to get out of town. Well you just set yourself here and enjoy your meal."

The young woman nodded and bent herself to her meal. She didn't notice the young man who had peered into the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice the young woman and signaled for the older woman to come over.

"Is that her?" he whispered.

"The little lost lamb. I found her digging in our trash bins again."

The man sighed. "Granny, what has Mr. Nick told you about taking in strays?"

"I know, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just walk away. Such a pretty little thing, too."

The man looked over the young woman. She was dirty and ragged. Pretty? Hard to say. "All right," the man capitulated, reluctantly. He knew there'd be hell to pay if his boss found out about this.

"She needs a place to stay the night," Granny was determined.

The man sighed. Getting in deeper and deeper. "Mr. Nick won't like this."

"She needs a place to stay the night," Granny insisted.

The man was quite uncomfortable. "All right, but just for tonight."

The young woman looked up and noticed the man for the first time. Their eyes met and she blushed. The man turned away. _Hard to say if she was pretty! What was he thinking! The woman was gorgeous! If Mr. Nick saw her. . . . _

He paused a moment. Right. If Mr. Nick saw her. It was possible she might make the cut. After all they were a waitress short right now.

Granny caught the speculative look. "Now Mr. Nolen, you aren't thinking that she's pretty enough for Mr. Nick to hire her on, are you?"

"Maybe. I need to find out some things about her first. I wouldn't want to waste his time." He cleared his throat and approached the young woman.

"Miss, I'm Mr. Nolen, the maître d' of this café." He came and sat down beside her.

"I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard," the young woman held out her hand to him. He took it and shook it.

Her hands were soft, any calluses were fresh. "Lovely to meet you. Tell me about yourself," he directed her.

Mary Margaret smiled shyly. She recognized him as someone with some authority and knew she needed to be both on her best behavior and on her guard. "I'm sure you've heard my story before. My family, it was just myself and my father, fell on hard times, we lost everything in the invasion. We evacuated with what we could carry. We began walking, trying to get to America." She paused. "My father got sick in Marseilles. He passed on," there was a catch in her voice. "I kept on with the journey, made it Oran and walked to Casa d'Ora. By the time I got here, I was completely out of money. No friends. No references. No skills. Pretty desperate."

Nolen nodded. He had heard this story before. "Looking for a job?" he asked her.

"Honest work," she was wary again. "I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good. This is a restaurant. A high class café with an elite clientele. We hire a. . . uh. . . certain type of young women to work here, mostly to help waitress our tables." He scrutinized her. "You may fit the profile."

She considered. "So the job is just to wait on tables? Take orders and serve? You would hire me on a trial basis?" she asked him.

"I'm not the one who makes that decision. Mr. Nick owns the place."

"This is Nick's Café?!" she asked. "I've heard of it. I didn't realize that this is where I was."

"Are you interested?"

She thought for only a moment. "I think so. Honest work?" she looked at him.

He finally caught the implication. "This is not a brothel. Mr. Nick frowns on fraternization with our customers."

The young woman breathed out. "I'm interested."

"Then I need to take you to meet Mr. Nick." He hesitated, "I should warn you. He can be intimidating, very intimidating. He will try to bully you, frighten you. He will likely try to humiliate you. But. . ." Nolen explained, "he won't hurt you. And if he approves of you. . . well, our girls all say this is the best job they've ever had." He stood and glanced at his watch. It was almost three in the morning. "No time like the present. Come with me."

Mary Margaret wiped her mouth and rose from the chair. "I need to clean my plate," she told him.

"Oh, I'll take care of that, girl. Go on. And show some backbone. Mr. Nick likes girls who have some spirit," the older woman advised her.

Mary Margaret thanked her and followed the young man out of the kitchen. He was handsome, blond and blue-eyed, tall, well put together. He looked good walking away from her.

As he led her through the back halls of the café, out of the kitchen, by a variety of small rooms and onto the floor of the restaurant-part of the café. It was after closing hours and staff was involved with putting chairs onto tables and cleaning up.

Mary Margaret looked around. She could tell this place was high-toned with plenty of big money. The carpet was thick. The wood furniture was mahogany and was put together by true craftsmen, carved and polished. There was fine art hanging on the wall. The place screamed taste and refinement. They went through the restaurant and climbed some stairs onto a balcony that looked down on the restaurant. Nolen knocked respectfully on one of two doors and waited a moment before entering. Mary Margaret followed him. There was an ornate desk made of some dark wood set in the middle of the room. A man sat behind the desk, going over receipts. Nolen led her over to the man and waited respectfully for the man to notice him.

Mary Margaret examined the man behind the desk. She'd heard of him. Of course she'd heard of him. Nicholas Gold. Wealthy, mysterious, powerful. Easily in his forties, maybe fifties, his hair was brown and longer than most men were wearing. He was small, compact, but exuded power and strength. He was impeccably dressed. He looked up and she found herself staring into chocolate brown eyes.

He glanced over to Nolen.

"Granny corralled our stray, but we think she may have promise. Since we have that position to fill, I thought you should consider her."

"It's late," the man spoke, curt and disagreeable. "Bring her over into the light."

Nolen motioned for her to come closer to the man, to stand under a floor lap that had been put just behind his desk. She stood, the light in her eyes, blinding her, but allowing him to examine her.

"Turn around," he ordered, then added, "Slowly."

There was silence for a very long moment. Then she complied.

"You are. . . Miss?"

"Blanchard," she answered. She glanced back at Nolen and he nodded to her.

The man behind the desk addressed Nolen. "I'll see to her and let you know. Wait in the restaurant," he ordered.

Mary Margaret was left alone with the man, Mr. Nick, was what he was called. He carefully raised himself and walked the few steps to the corner of his desk. He leaned against the desk. Mary Margaret thought she noticed a limp as he maneuvered along the edge of the desk, but wasn't quite sure. He poured himself something (probably) alcoholic.

"Drink?" he offered her.

She shook her head.

"Nolen explained that we have very exacting requirements for the young women whom we employ to work here?"

"He implied you had certain standards," she answered, noting his soft Scot brogue. It made his voice interesting.

"The women that work for me are drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, charming, enchanting, delightful. Are you _any_ of those things, Miss Blanchard?" there was the slightest hint of derision in his voice.

"I don't know, sir." she answered honestly.

"Do you want this job?" he asked her.

"I believe so, sir," she responded honestly.

He finished his drink. His eyes were half-closed. He motioned to her. "Take down your hair," he ordered her.

She hesitated, but unknotted it and allowed it to fall down over her shoulders. It had not been really washed since Marseilles, so she knew it was dull and limp.

"Shake your head," he ordered her again.

Again she hesitated, but then complied, allowing her hair to fall naturally down her back and onto her shoulders.

Very softly he gave the next order, "Take off your dress."

"Sir?"

"Take off your dress. I need to see if you have any track marks from drug use. Any obvious diseases. I need to see if you have a body that will interest my customers."

Mary Margaret just stood for a moment. _How badly did she want this job?_

"I don't plan to fuck you, dearie." Despite his crude words, he was actually trying to reassure her. "But I do need to be thoroughly familiar with anyone I hire for this particular job."

"Do you make the men strip also?" she muttered under her breathe.

She heard his chuckle, "If they are going to have to flash nubile body parts to attract and amuse customers, I would," he responded to her.

She was trembling as she began to unfasten the buttons at the front of her threadbare shirtwaist dress. She slipped the dress over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. She was standing only in her brassiere, panties and shoes. She blushed. She knew her undergarments were not particularly clean, stained with sweat and desert grit.

She looked up at him.

He was watching her closely, not moving, except for his eyes which stared intently at her, occasionally flicking down her body.

"Your shoes, next," he told her.

She complied, removing her shoes and shoving them aside with a foot. She was now standing only in her bra and panties.

"And the rest now, please," he had poured himself a second drink and was thoughtfully sipping it.

Mary Margaret swallowed. _How badly did she want, need this job? _She reached around herself and unfastened her bra. She slipped the straps down her shoulders. She closed her eyes and dropped the bra down, holding her hands in front of herself.

This was even harder than she had thought it would be. She had always thought that when she did undress in front of a man that it would be her wedding night. For a man she loved. But there was no romance here, no warmth, no affection. This man just had a clinical, business interest in her body.

Truth be told, Mary Margaret didn't actually know if she were pretty or not. Her father had always called her his little princess and told her she was beautiful, but then that was her father.

Mary Margaret swallowed again. She took a deep breath and after a moment, she began to slide her panties off, down her thighs, over her knees and off. She straightened up.

She didn't, couldn't meet his eyes but she knew he was looking at her.

_Good grief. The woman was so pale she was almost luminescent. She actually seemed to glow in the dim light of his office. The contrast with her black hair was amazing. Her body. . . perfect, everything in just the right proportion, firm, taut. She was quite the beauty. Drop-dead gorgeous, indeed. With a bit of spirit, too. Ten years ago, hell, five years ago, he would have tried her out._

He picked up a cane he had left next to his chair and walked the few steps over to her, leaning on the cane. He stopped right before her and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him.

"Have you been with a man before, cherie?" he asked her. She dropped her eyes and, as much as he would allow, she turned her head.

"I don't see how. . ." she began.

"So you're a virgin?"

Still not meeting his eyes, she nodded, closing her eyes.

"Are you familiar with a place called The Red Heart?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Then you know you could have gone there and bartered your hymen for enough money to get you a black market visa?"

She stood a moment and finally, in a small voice, replied, "I know, but I'm not a whore. Not that desperate yet," she admitted.

"That's good to know. Because if I ever find out that you're turning tricks with the customers, you'll be out on your pert little ass. If I find out that you're doing drugs, you're out. If I find out that you've stolen even a blue farthing from me, then you're out. Understand?"

She stood a moment, "I'm not a whore, a junkie or a thief," she told him. After a moment she asked, "Then I'm hired?" She didn't want to sound too hopeful.

"Trial basis. I assume you can read and write." He had looked down at her lush, perfectly formed breasts. He couldn't help but notice that hard peaks that had formed on the tender mounds. She was responding, against her will, but responding none the less. Strong feminine drives. He definitely approved.

"Of course," she had answered him.

"My girls stay in a dormitory. You'll be provided room and board and a small salary. I provide your clothing and I have total approval on your hair and makeup."

He was still standing next to her. She could feel the warmth coming off the man's body. He leaned in and whispered, "I will take good care of you, cherie." He then slowly limped back to his desk, "Put your clothes back on. I'll have Nolen take you to the dorm." He turned his attention back to his receipts.

Trembling, she put her clothing back on. She would have never thought she would have done such a thing, but this man was so demanding, commanding, dominating. _And he was offering her a job. . .and shelter. . . and clothing. . . and a salary. . . and food. _Once dressed, she went out and down the stairs to Nolen, who asked her to wait. He briefly went upstairs where she assumed he spoke with Mr. Nick. _Did he know what his boss had just had her do? Did he think Mr. Nick had had his way with her?_

When he returned to her, Nolen's face was impassive. "Come on. I'll get you to the dorm and we'll get you set up for the night. Tomorrow you can start out following Jesse."

Mary Margaret followed him silently. They left the café and going to the adjacent building, went up some stairs along the outside of this structure. At the top of the stairs, Nolen knocked on the door. It was opened just enough, stopped by the chain lock, just enough for a large soft brown eye to peek out.

"Nolen, sir!" The door closed, there was the sound of a chain moving and then the door opened.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" The large soft brown eye belonged to a young woman with thick, black hair and a milky café au lait complexion. The woman was middle eastern and one of the most beautiful women Mary Margaret had ever seen.

"Jesse," Nolen began, "This is Mary Margaret. She's on trial as a new waitress."

"Mary Margaret, so happy to meet you." The young woman welcomed her in and gave her a hug. "We have been desperate for another waitress."

Nolen spoke directly to Jesse. "Mr. Nick wanted you to show her the ropes. Help get her ready. He told me to tell you that he's counting on you."

"Wonderful," Jesse smiled at Mary Margaret. "I'm happy to help." She leaned in and whispered to Mary Margaret, "It'll be good not to try to have to wait so many tables since Ashley got herself. . . " she stopped, glancing a bit guiltily at Nolen, "since Ashley can't work the front anymore," she finished, somewhat lamely.

Nolen let himself out and Jesse locked the door behind him. "Here let me introduce you to the other girls."

"What's going on?" It was Ruby, the croupier who ran the roulette wheel in the back room, the Gambling Room, of the café.

It was the next day. There had been police whistles and scurrying about all afternoon.

"Swan has given orders to round up the usual suspects. Two German couriers carrying important official documents were murdered on a train from Oran. The murderer and possible accomplices are believed to be headed towards Casa d'Ora. The police are rounding up all suspicious characters to search them. Refugees, liberals, and probably some pretty girl for that new German Major Spender." It was Jefferson, Mr. Nick's ebullient piano player, who gave the girls the news.

Mary Margaret could not help but like the tall young man. He had a kind smile and easy laugh. He was not well focused but was much easier to be around than his creepy boss.

"Watch out for Jefferson," Ruby had warned her. "He is very fond of the ladies."

"How about Mr. Nick?" Mary Margaret had taken awhile to gather up courage to ask this question of the outgoing young woman.

She had learned quite a lot about her co-workers, mostly from Ruby, the evening before and during that first day. Jesse had fled an arranged marriage and had arrived penniless and destitute at Nick's door. Arry and a now very pregnant girl named Ashley had both fled constricting families trying to find a better life but both had found only poverty. Ashley, Mary Margaret had learned, wasn't allowed out on the restaurant floor, but had a job helping in the kitchens. Ruby and her grandmother had fled the encroaching German army and ran out of money in Casa d'Ora. Katy's story was much like her own, a young woman of wealth, fleeing with her father, then losing her father and running out of money. Tina was just trying to get enough money together to open her own restaurant. She was probably the only one not trying to get out of Casa d'Ora.

"Is he fond of the ladies? To be completely honest, I don't know," Ruby had explained. "When I started here, he had me strip for him before he would hire me. I think he does that to all the girls he hires, just to make sure they know he's the boss. And, I think, if you cry, he won't hire you – I guess he figures you're not spirited enough. At first, I was afraid that sleeping with him came with the job package, but I've never had him put any moves on me nor heard of him doing anything like that with any of the other girls. I promise you as good as he treats us, most of us wouldn't object to putting out for him if he asked us to."

Ruby continued, "He visits The Red Heart on occasion but I think that is just to aggravate Miss Regina, the owner, rather than to partake of the entertainment there."

Ruby lowered her voice. "For a while I'd wondered if he was playing on our team, you know, I wondered if he preferred the company of boys, that maybe he and Jefferson. . . well, you know," Ruby shrugged. "But I don't think so. He's incredibly discrete if that's what's going on."

It was right before the Café was to open for dinner service. Mary Margaret stood with the other young women and men on the staff in the Gambling Room, waiting for a final inspection right before they opened. Mr. Nick, dressed again in a dark suit, leaning on his cane, looked them each up and down, straightening a collar here, adjusting a pocket handkerchief there. When he reached the young women, he seemed to give them each special regard.

"Tina," he spoke to the young woman of mixed racial blood, some African, some, well something else. "Agréable, comme d'habitude,"

"Merci, Monsieur," she gave him a big smile and a small courtesy.

"Arry, lovely as always." He complimented the petite red-headed girl.

"Thank you, sir," the young woman grinned at him.

"Ruby." He actually looked up at Ruby. She was tall, dressed in a form-fitting red dress, and with the high high heels she wore, she was able to look down at him. "Excellent," he smiled at her.

"Thanks Boss," Ruby also smiled at the man.

"Katy, mooie."

The tall blonde, Dutch? Mary Margaret had guessed, was dressed in shades of gold and ivory. She blushed and cast her eyes down.

He now stood before Jesse, dressed in exotic flowing silks, in blues and purples.

"Exquisite," he closely examined her, having her turn for him. "Gamila," he told her.

"Shukran," Jesse replied, dropping her eyes, but then shyly peeking up at him, a slight mischievous look in her eyes.

"How has it gone?" he nodded towards Mary Margaret.

"Very well sir. I chose white to put her in. I hope you find it acceptable."

He looked Mary Margaret over closely. "You have cleaned up very nicely, Miss Blanchard. I hope you are able to manage the job. Jesse has explained everything to you?"

"Yes," then she stammered, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Up until that moment she had been comfortable in the simple white dress Jesse had put her into. It hugged her figure but covered everything. But as Mr. Nick had looked her over, it had abruptly occurred to her the very simplicity of the dress called attention to her figure. She was feeling on display.

"Very good," he smiled, almost gently at her.

He turned back to the staff and addressed them all, "Capitaine Swan has alerted me that we are likely to see some special activity here tonight. Everyone, concentrate on doing your job. Stay out of the way of the police and the Germans."

Everyone nodded. They all seemed to relax when Mr. Nick slowly limped back to a chair behind a work table that he'd had set up on a dais in the corner of the Gambling Room and they were able to clear out of his presence.

Mary Margaret shadowed Jesse that evening. The occupants in the café restaurant were varied. There were Europeans in dinner jackets. Moroccans in silk robes. Turks in fezzes. Levantines in striped robes. Naval officers. German officers. Members of the Foreign Legion, distinguished by their kepis. Members of the French military. Many of the women were beautifully dressed, wearing rich gowns and bedecked in costly jewels. As she moved across the floor, assisting in taking orders, keeping water glasses filled, she was surprised at the conversations she was picking up in the café.

There were two men sitting at a table. They were on their third bottle of wine. One of the men was muttering, "Waiting, waiting, waiting. I'll never get out of here. I'll die in Casa d'Ora."

That hit close to home for Mary Margaret.

At another table a well-dressed woman was showing a man a bracelet. She was saying, "But can't you please make it a little more?"

"Diamonds, diamonds are a glut on the market. Everybody is selling diamonds. There are diamonds everywhere."

Mary Margaret had long since sold off what little jewelry she had. The last of it had gone in Oran.

At another table two men were conspiring. "The truck is ready, the men are waiting. Everything is. . . " They stopped talking as she walked by. _Free French, no doubt._

"It's the fishing boat, _Santiago_. It leaves at one tomorrow night. Here at the end of the marina, third boat from the end," one man was talking with a young couple.

The woman had tears in her eyes, "Thank you, thank you."

"Bring fifteen thousand francs in cash. Remember, in cash."

_Getting out without an exit visa. What a risk. The fishing boat captain could just as well take their money and leave them on the docks. Or worse, take them out to open water and dump them._

"Pardon," It was Arry. "Mr. Nick wants Mary Margaret to bring him his supper."

She panicked a little. _Was there a problem already? Was he going to fire her after a single evening? She thought she had done all right, rapidly memorizing the menu. Jesse had even let her take down a few orders. There had even been several moments that her knowledge of Russian, German and Spanish had helped out. She hadn't had any arguments with the customers or with any of the other staff._

"Relax, he just probably wants to check in with you to see how it's going," Jesse tried to calm her. "You haven't done anything that he will find fault with."

Mary Margaret gave her a tight smile and took the supper tray from Arry. "He's in the Gambling Room at his table," she directed her.

Mary Margaret passed the bar with Mademoiselle Tina standing behind it. She made her way up to the door guarded by the formidable Leroy, an ex-bare knuckles fighter, a small, but powerful man. He looked her over.

"You're the new girl, right? Supper for Monsieur Nick?"

She nodded. She had been in this roomlast night. Leroy opened the door and held it for her. She stepped into the smoky, dimly lit area. There were several tables, including a large one that held the roulette wheel. There was already a crowd gathered around Ruby as she competently called the numbers and colors, directing people to "place their bets." At several tables there were people playing cards.

She looked around the room. As she'd been told, he was sitting at his worktable opposite the door, with his back to the wall. She could see that this table being on a raised platform allowed him to better monitor what was happening in the room. He was dealing from a deck of cards. Solitaire? He did not look up.

Mary Margaret spotted Mr. Nolen. He is doing a quick walk around the facility. He saw her and gave her a comforting smile.

One of the glittering woman guests, playing cards, stopped Nolen as he started over to Mary Margaret. "Captain, will you ask Monsieur Nick if he will have a drink with us."

Nolen smiled and shook his head, "Madame, I'm sorry, but he never drinks with customers. I have never seen him. Sorry."

"What makes a saloon keeper so snobbish?" she asked him, disappointed.

"He has strict rules about fraternization with customers. For us and for himself," Nolen responded, still smiling. "He's afraid, no doubt, that he wouldn't be able to resist the charms of many of the beautiful ladies who come here."

The woman seemed mollified and went back to her game.

Mary Margaret had made her way across to Nick.

He didn't look up at her, "Put it down," he motioned to a corner of the table. She complied. She wasn't sure if she needed to wait to be dismissed, so she stood awkwardly.

"How many languages do you speak?" he asked her abruptly.

"About four well and some of about three others."

"You had a good education, then." He stated it as a fact.

"In Switzerland, then in England, then in Paris. Yes sir, I've had a good education."

"You seem to be doing well your first evening," he told her.

"Thank you, sir."

He had finally looked up at her and gave her a thin, crooked, closed-mouthed smile.

_NEXT: Nick accepts an envelope_

_ Nick gets an offer_

_ Nick gets a friendly warning_


	2. A Bit of Entertainment

_It's wartime in Europe and hundreds of refugees are pouring into Casa d'Ora. One of these desperate souls has been hired by the enigmatic Nicholas Gold who runs Nick's Café. Everyone, everyone comes to Nick's Café. It is the place to be. _

A Bit of Entertainment

As Mary Margaret stood awkwardly at Mr. Nick's table, having just delivered his supper plate, he had finally gotten around to looking directly at her. His unwavering chocolate brown eyes just looking at her, assessing her, was unnerving her more than anything else that had happened in the past two days. She managed a weak, timorous smile back at him.

From his position he had, from the corner of his eye, been watching Katy, the cashier. An attractive blond man was spending a lot of time chatting with her as she worked behind the booth. His presence didn't seem to be bothering Katy and she seemed careful not to let him interfere with her job. But, now that he had looked up at Mary Margaret, all of his attention shifted to her as if he were ready to appraise her first night's performance. He appeared as if he was about to say something but there was a commotion at the door coming into the Gambling Room. Two people, both very well dressed, a man and a woman, were attempting to come into the Gambling Room. Leroy had stopped them and looked to Mr. Nick. Nick looked them over and nodded. They were admitted.

Immediately thereafter, a second, lone man, equally well dressed, came up. Leroy glanced again at Mr. Nick. This time, Mr. Nick frowned and shook his head, "No."

Leroy started to close the door on the man. "I'm sorry sir, this is a private room."

"Of all the nerve! Who do you think. . .? I know there is gambling in here! There's no secret.! You dare not keep me out of here!"

The man was still trying to push his way in, but (and Mary Margaret marveled at the quickness of the crippled man) Nick had swiftly made his way to the door and directly addressed the situation.

"What's the problem?" he asked Leroy, not raising his voice.

Leroy began to try to explain, "This gentlemen. . ." but he was interrupted by the irate would-be gambler.

"I have been in every gambling room from Honolulu to Berlin and if you think I'm going to be kept out of a saloon like this one, you are very much mistaken!"

At that moment a plump, little man with an oily smile, pushed his way passed the trio at the door. "Pardon me." As he passed, the plump man noticed Nick. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Nick."

"Smee," Nick greeted him briefly before turning his attention back to the unwelcome visitor. "Your cash is good at the bar," he informed the pushy would-be gambler.

"What? Do you know who I am?" the man appeared to be used to blustering and bullying his way.

"I do," replied Nick smoothly and then his voice turned cold, "You're lucky the bar is open to you."

"This is outrageous! I shall complaint to the Prefect!"

Nick shook his head and began to limp, leaning on his cane, back to his worktable.

Smee, the oily little man, followed him, "Watching you just now, one would think you've been doing this all your life." The plump man walked alongside the saloon owner.

"What makes you think I haven't?" Nick was still cold and uninterested. He spoke shortly. It was clear to Mary Margaret who was still waiting by the worktable, that Mr. Nick didn't like the little chubby man. She, herself, instinctively recoiled from him, sensing something unsavory about him.

"Oh nothing," Smee immediately was apologetic. "It was just when you first came to Casa d'Ora, I thought. . ."

"You thought what?" Nick was sharp.

"Oh nothing," Smee seemed to be used to rapidly taking back anything he'd say. "What right do I have to think?"

Despite the openness of Nick's dislike, Smee blithely pulled out one of the chairs at the Mr. Nick's worktable to sit down next to him. "Too bad about those German couriers," Smee began his end of the conversation.

"They got a break. Yesterday they were just two German clerks. Today, they're 'The Honored Dead'," Nick observed disparagingly.

Nick glanced up at Mary Margaret and pointing to Smee, he mouthed "bourbon." She nodded, understanding, and went out of the room to the bar. The bartender, the beautiful young woman with skin the color of light mocha, Tina, smiled at her and, having seen Smee go in, and knowing what Smee usually drank, gave her a single shot of bourbon. As Mary Margaret made her way back into the Gambling Room, she found the two men were still talking.

"You're a very cynical person, Nick. If you'll forgive me for saying so," Smee continued to comment and apologize, as if he was building up to something with Nick.

Nick glanced at Smee, barely disguising his disgust and irritation. "I forgive you."

Mary Margaret, as inconspicuous as she could make herself, put the bourbon down in front of Smee. "Oh, thank you," he told her. "Hey, you're a new one. This is the fairest one yet, Mr. Nick. Where do you find all these beautiful girls?" Mary Margaret pulled back from the smarmy little man, repulsed. Smee continued, "I never find beautiful girls like you seem to find," he said to himself. He turned his attention back to Nick, "Will you have a drink with me?" he asked Nick.

"No," came the curt reply.

"Oh, I forgot. You never drink with customers. Maybe you'll let her have a drink with me?" He grabbed Mary Margaret's hand.

"No," and Nick glared at Smee, causing the other man to immediately release Mary Margaret. Smee grimaced at her, "I'll have another, please," and held up his now empty glass.

Mary Margaret glanced at Mr. Nick before she responded to the little man's request. He nodded and she went off again to refill his glass.

"You despise me, don't you?" Smee asked him.

"If I gave you any thought I would," Nick responded.

"But why? Do you object to the kind of business that I do? Think of all those poor refugees who would rot in this place, if I didn't help them. It's not so bad. Through ways of my own, I provide them with an exit visa."

"For a price, Smee, for a price," Nick reminded him.

"But think of all those poor folks who can't meet Regina's price, or Emma's price, or Spender's price. I can get visas for them at half the price. Is that so parasitical?"

"I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one," Nick tells him.

"Well," the little man shrugged, "after tonight, everything will change. I will be through with this whole business and I will finally be leaving Casa d'Ora," Smee barely contained his glee.

"Who did you bribe for your visa?" Nick was not seriously interested.

"Myself, I find myself much more reasonable," Smee smiled at Nick. He then looked around and seeing that, for the moment, they were alone, he pulled a long envelope out of his coat pocket.

"Do you know what this is?" Smee asked him. Without waiting for Nick to answer, Smee continued, "Something you have never seen before." He held them out, caressing the envelope which was holding his precious treasure. In a whisper he told Nick, "Letters of transit, signed by General de Gaulle himself. They cannot be rescinded, cannot even be questioned." He sat back in his chair, "Tonight I'll be selling these for more money than even I have dreamed of. Then addio Casa d'Ora." Smee shook his head. "You know, I have many friends in Casa d'Ora, but somehow, perhaps because you despise me so much, you are the only one I trust. I need you to keep these for me."

"For how long?" Nick was uncomfortable accepting these "treasures."

"Perhaps for an hour, perhaps a little longer."

"I don't want them here overnight," Nick warned him.

"That should not be a problem. Please, please keep them for me. I know I can trust you," he rose and started to leave. He spotted Mary Margaret again, bringing him his second drink. He took it and addressed her, "Oh waitress. I will be expecting some people. If anyone asks for me, tell them I'm in here."

She nodded. "Yes monsieur."

He turned one last time for a parting word with Nick. "I hope you are more impressed with me now, Nick. I believe I shall go and share my good fortune with the roulette wheel."

"Just a moment," Nick summoned him back. Smee dutifully returned. Nick commented, "I heard a rumor that those German couriers were carrying letters of transit."

Smee gave him a smarmy smile. "Yes, I heard that rumor also."

Nick looked at Smee for a long time, steadily, "Yes, Smee. I am a little more impressed with you now," he admitted.

_Damn, these letter potentially made him a co-conspirator, an accessory, and to murder, no less. Smee can't pick them back up too soon._

Nick got up to leave the table, pocketing the long envelope. He knew he would need to secure the packet. He walked out of the smoky room filled with glittering, desperate gamblers, and through the bar with its fluttering, desperate drinkers, and then into the restaurant with it saddened, desperate clientele.

Nolen approached Mary Margaret and walked her back into the restaurant, following the path that Nick had just been on. "You're doing splendidly," he told her. She smiled up at him and he, cautiously, pulled her aside, under the staircase that went up to Nick's private office and his quarters. "I'm sorry about what he did to you. He's great to work for but he has a problem with women, I think."

"Maybe some woman hurt him," Mary Margaret speculated.

"Must have hurt him really badly. He doesn't seem to like or trust women. But he does treat his waitresses well, providing they follow his rules," Nolen told her. As he parted from her, he whispered, "You are the fairest one of all," he told her.

Mary Margaret felt all warm inside for the first time in a long time. She liked Mr. Nolen, that was for sure. Ruby hadn't told her much about him except that he seemed to be a nice guy. She thought that maybe he was a really nice guy. She stood a moment and went back into the restaurant to help Jesse.

At Nick came on into the restaurant, he could see Jefferson at his small piano, playing and singing.

_I've chased this dream since I was five  
And I have barely stayed alive  
While folks have fallen off this ship  
Well, I have never lost my grip_

This was a rousing tune, an audience favorite. It was getting everyone in a great mood.

_So hate me  
You might as well hate me  
And go on, berate me  
Until the day you die_

_I'm going straight through_  
_I'm not gonna hate you_  
_But I won't wait for you_  
_Until the day I die_

It was Arry, the little red headed waitress, who came over and sang along with him, her clear soprano contrasting nicely with Jefferson's baritone.

_Some folks will tell me I'm all wrong_  
He's all wrong_  
But I won't listen, well, not for long_  
No, not for long  
_My whole life I've planned this trip_  
He's planned this trip  
_And to my plan I'm gonna stick_  
He's gonna stick

The audience joined in for the final chorus.

_So hate me  
You might as well hate me  
And go on, berate me  
Until the day you die_

_But I'm going straight through_  
_I'm not going to hate you_  
_But I won't wait for you_  
_Until the day I die_

Many couples were up and dancing. The small orchestra picked up the song and the spotlight turned on them.

With all eyes now off the piano player and onto the orchestra, Nick carefully, quickly lifted up the back of Jefferson's salmon-pink piano and inserted the envelope.

He then glanced around the restaurant and settled himself at the bar. Tina handed him a drink and he thanked her. Things were going well this evening with the new extra waitress. She was turning out to be quite the find. Multi-lingual, delightfully charming, exquisitely beautiful. He pressed his lips together considering.

It had been difficult when he'd found out that one of his waitresses, pretty little Ashley, was pregnant. Stupid little cunt. There had been a strapping young officer who had apparently talked her out of her panties and then had gotten shipped out. Ashley swore they had gotten married and produced some cracker-jack paperwork to that effect, which might or might not have been real. Nick had been furious and had been prepared to fire the girl when Capitaine Swan had actually intervened. She said any girl could make a mistake and shouldn't have to spend the rest of life being punished for it. Much against his better judgment, Swan had talked him into allowing Ashley to continue to work for him, just not out in front where customers could see her.

Nick shook his head. If anyone saw one of his girls pregnant with no obvious suitor, they would all assume that he. . . well, they were all assuming he bedded all these beautiful women who worked for him anyway. Recognizing it added to his reputation, he had done nothing to discourage these rumors. But having one pregnant. . . that was a wee bit more to add onto his reputation than he wanted.

As he was sipping his drink at the bar, he noticed a small disruption at the front door and looked over to see a stunningly beautiful brunette woman, dressed in amazing black leather pants with a black satin skirt that wrapped around her waist and covered her backside leaving her pants visible from the front. She also sported a black leather bustier and all was topped with a black velvet cloak with a black lace collar. She looked like she should be greeting guests into her bedroom. Nick easily recognized her and knew the majority of patrons in the restaurant and bar also knew who she is.

After stopping to scan the crowd, she spotted him and made her way over.

"Nick darling, how goes the restaurant and bar business?" she asked him, planting a kiss directly on his mouth.

"It's a living, Gigi," he answered her, removing his pocket handkerchief to wipe his mouth off. "How's business at The Red Heart?"

"It's Regina now," she corrected him with a bit of asperity in her voice.

"Now you know that I can't forget that I knew you as that ambitious floozy barmaid at Madame Cora's in Paris. Sorry." He didn't sound sincere.

"Well, my business is fine," she continued. "In fact, I'd like to buy your place." This was a conversation they had had before.

"It's not for sale," Nick responded.

"You haven't heard my offer."

"It's not for sale at any price," he affirmed.

"Well, then, what do you want for Jefferson?" she purred, brushing up against him. Her open invitation had never been appealing to him and he stepped back slightly away from her.

"I don't buy and sell human beings," he told her.

"That's too bad. In Casa d'Ora that's the leading commodity. In refugees alone we would make a fortune if you would work with me through the black market."

"Why don't you run your business and let me run mine?"

"Why don't we ask Jefferson? Maybe he'd like to make a change." She sauntered over to the piano player who was playing a quieter tune.

"Suppose we do," agreed Nick and joined her at the piano.

"Jefferson," he addressed his piano player. "Gigi, I mean Regina, would like you to come to work for her at The Red Heart."

"I like it here fine, Boss," the tall, slender piano player responded, launching into a faster jazz piece.

"She'll double what I pay you," Nick promised him.

"But I don't have time to spend what I make here," Jefferson let him know.

"You can have your pick of the girls," Regina spoke up. She was evidently familiar with Jefferson's penchant for the ladies.

Jefferson glanced at Nick with enough perception to act guilty. "Well, he don't know it, but I already have that here. And, our girls are prettier than your girls," he told her.

Nick looked apologetic. "Sorry," he said to Regina.

She nodded. Before she left, she leaned in and whispered to Nick, "Come on by soon. I have some new equipment you might like to sample." Her voice was very soft in his ear. "You know I'd be willing to let you try some of the devices out on me."

He gave her a smile and whispered back into her ear, "I've already sampled your 'devices', dearie. And I'll stick with my own equipment here." To his staff it appeared as if they are sharing an intimate moment and Regina elected not to push it. He'd preserved her dignity but he'd clearly rejected both her and her offer. _Well, live to fight another day._ Never one to do things in a small way, Regina gathered herself together and managed to make as much a commotion with her exit as she had with her entrance.

"You shouldn't be throwing away business offers, Nicky. With the German army breathing down our necks, the economy is so unpredictable. One day business offers might be scarce." The advice was being offered by a very attractive young woman, pretty enough to be working for Nick, but this one was in a police captain's uniform. Nick went over to her and sat down next to her at the corner table.

"Emma, my sweet girl, how are you tonight?"

"Lovely, just lovely," Her green eyes were soft when she looked at him and she was smiling. She leaned into him and asked, "What time is it?"

"What? Eight o'clock. Why?"

"The plane for Lisbon is leaving now. I've often wondered what keeps you off of it."

"Why would I want to go to Lisbon? What's there?" Nick asked her.

"The clipper ship for America." Emma took a drink. "I sometimes speculate on why you don't return to America. Did you steal the church funds, run off with a senator's wife? I like to think you killed a man, but that's the romantic in me."

"Sort of a combination," Nick replied.

"But why Casa d'Ora? Whatever would bring you here?" she was genuinely curious.

"My health," he answered. "I came to Casa d'Ora for the waters."

Emma nearly spewed her drink. "Waters?! We have no waters here. We're in the fucking desert."

Nick shrugged. "I was misinformed. But since you are asking so many questions, let me ask you a few. How did such a beautiful woman as yourself rise to the position of captain of police?"

"Exactly what you think, Nicky. A combination of sexual favors, blackmail and old fashioned threats."

"But you aren't sleeping with anyone right now," Nick observed.

"Not that it's any of your business," Emma regarded him sharply. "I see you have a new girl. She's absolutely gorgeous. I'm terribly jealous. And speaking of sleeping with anyone, however do you keep all those women satisfied?"

"I have a novel approach."

Emma was intrigued. She leaned forward towards him, "And what is that?"

He leaned in to her, "I give them a safe place to stay, good food to eat, clean clothes to wear and pay them a decent salary."

Emma was disappointed and sat back. "Oh don't let that business plan get out. It would bankrupt Casa d'Ora."

At that moment, Ruby nervously approached the table. "Oh Monsieur Nick. It's awful. But a man just won twenty thousand francs at the wheel. Katy needs some money to pay him with."

Nick rose, "I'll get it from the safe."

"I'm so upset, Monsieur Nick, I don't understand how it happened," Ruby was genuinely distressed.

Emma was observing the interchange. Ruby didn't seem afraid of Nicky. She seemed upset that she had failed him. Nicky was being as nice as he could be about losing a butt load of money, actually comforting the croupier.

"Forget it, Ruby. These things happen."

"I'm so sorry, sir," the brunette continued to apologize. Emma followed them waiting for Nick to retrieve the money and hand it off to Katy, their cashier.

Nick noted that the young man was still hanging around Katy.

Emma watched the money exchange hands. She then shared, "Nicky, you may have heard the rumors already. There's going to be some excitement here tonight. We are going to make an important arrest in your café."

"What? Again?" Nick was not happy.

"Oh, this is no ordinary arrest. This is a murderer."

Nick glanced involuntarily at the Gambling Room.

Emma lowered her voice, "If you're thinking of warning him, I would advise against it. Don't put yourself out. He cannot possibly escape."

"Hey, I stick my neck out for nobody," Nick assured her.

"A wise foreign policy," commended Emma. "You know we could have made the arrest earlier at The Red Heart, but out of my respect and liking for you, I decided we would do it here. It will amuse your customers. A bit of entertainment."

"I already provide enough entertainment between Jefferson and the gambling. That should be enough for my customers," Nick told her sourly.

"Well, this is also for one the important guests who's coming here tonight. Major George Spender of the Third Reich. He's been in the area for a while and never made it here. He'll be coming here tonight. I want him to see me make the arrest. A little demonstration of the efficiency of my police force." The two had made it back to Emma's corner table.

"What is Spender actually doing here? Do you know?" Nick asked. "I doubt he's here just to see a 'little demonstration of the efficiency' of your police force."

"I don't know." Emma seemed to be holding back something.

"What's on your mind Emma? I know you well enough when you have something to say. Just spill it," he ordered her.

"You do know me, Nicky. I just wanted to give you a word of advice."

Nick looked at her, waiting.

"We know that there are many, many exit visas sold in your café, but you personally have never sold one. It is one of the reasons why we have let you stay open."

"I thought I was because I let you win at roulette."

"That's another reason." Emma took a deep breath and tugged on her uniform. "There is a man coming here. He's arrived here on his way to America. He will offer a small fortune to anyone who will furnish him with an exit visa."

"Yeah, what's he name?"

"Gaston LeGume," Emma responded.

"Gaston LeGume!" Nick seemed genuinely surprised.

Emma is watching his reaction. "Wow, that is the first time I have ever seen you impressed."

"Well why not? He has succeeded in impressing half of the world."

"Yeah, well, it's my duty to see that he doesn't impress the other half. Nicky, LeGume must never reach America. He must stay in Casa d'Ora."

Nick smiled at her. "It will be interesting to see how he manages it."

"Manages what?"

"His escape."

Emma shook her head, "I just told you. . ."

"Stop it! The man escaped from a concentration camp and made it all the way here with all the Nazis in Europe chasing him."

"Well, this is the end of the chase."

"Twenty thousand francs says it's not."

"Is that a serious offer?" Emma was curious.

"I just paid out twenty thousand. I'd like to get it back."

"Well, make it ten. I'm only a poor corrupt official."

"Done, we have a deal," Nick nodded.

"No matter how clever he is, he will still need an exit visa. Or should I say two."

"Why two?"

"He's traveling with a lady," Emma explained.

Nick scoffed and shook his head. "He'll take one."

"I don't think so. I've seen pictures of the lady. If he didn't leave her in Marseilles, if he didn't leave her in Oran, then he won't leave her in Casa d'Ora."

Nick shrugged. "Maybe he's not as romantic as you are. "

"It's no matter. There's no exit visa for him," Emma insisted.

"Emma, whatever gave you the impression that I would be interested in helping Gaston LeGume escape?"

"Because my dear Nicholas Gold, I suspect that underneath that cynical shell, you're at heart a sentimentalist."

Nick smirked at her.

"Oh laugh if you will. But I happen to be familiar with your record. Let me point out two items. In 1935, you ran guns to Ethiopia. In 1936, you fought in Spain on the Loyalist side."

"And I got well paid for it on both occasions," Nick defended himself.

"But the winning side would have paid you much better."

"Well I never said I was a good businessman. But you do seem determined to keep LeGume here."

"I have my orders," Emma replied.

"Oh. I see. Germans spank Emma if she messes up."

"Oh Nicky, you overestimate the influence of the Germans. I don't interfere with them. They don't interfere with me. Here in Casa d'Ora I am in charge of my own fate. I call the shots. I make the decisions. I am the captain. . ."

Before he could finish, Jesse came in breathlessly, "Capitaine Swan, a German officer, Major Spender is here asking for you."

Immediately Emma got up to leave.

Nick leaned back, "I'm sorry, Emma, you were saying?" He was smiling at her.

"Oh, ça fait chier!" she said irritatedly and left with Jesse.

"Come work for me, Emma. Come work for me instead," he called after her, smiling and laughing softly.

And there was a moment as he watched her walk away, as he assessed her fine ass, just a moment that he wondered if anything might make the little police captain desperate enough to drop her clothes for him. He'd certainly enjoy having her taking his orders, serving him.

As Emma and Jesse hurried back to the front of the café, Emma asked Jesse, "Make sure Nolan gives Spender a good seat where he can see everything. And make sure it's near some pretty women. Hell, put yourself and that new girl waiting on him. She's dazzling."

As Emma went over to the German party she froze. She recognized one of Spender's officers. _But it couldn't be him. _She involuntarily put her hand on her gun. _It had been eleven years. _She stood for a moment and, with some effort, gained control over herself before changing course and going over to two of her officers. "Let's take him quietly. Make sure there are two guards on every door." _What would that __salaud__ be doing here?_

"Everything is ready, ma'am," the officer replied.

Emma looked around. "Excellent. I'll be joining Spender." She took a deep breath and walked over to the German officer's table. _Would he recognize her?_

"Capitaine Swan. Please join me," Spender motioned to one of the empty chairs at his was an older man, who might have been considered attractive if it wasn't for the severe ever-judgmental expression on his face. "Allow me to introduce my attaché, Obersleutnant Cassady."

Emma's eyes were cold as she turned to the young officer. He wasn't handsome in the traditional manner, but even featured and rugged, strongly, powerfully built. He looked at her with just barely a flicker of recognition. He seemed, with some effort, to recover but said nothing more to her than a simple greeting. "Capitaine."

Spender, intent on his own needs, totally missed the exchange. Instead, he addressed Mary Margaret. "A tin of caviar and some champagne."

Emma, slowly recovering, held up her hand, "May I suggest Veuve Cliquot '26, it's a good French wine."

Spender shrugged, obviously out of his territory, "If you say."

Mary Margaret nodded and went off to get the order.

"This is a very interesting place," Spender observed.

"Especially so tonight, Major. In a few moments you will see the arrest of the man who murdered your couriers."

"Given your reputation, Madam Capitaine, I expected no less."

In the Gambling Room, two gendarmes approach Smee. One of them came up from behind and addressed him, "William Smee?"

"Why, yes," Smee replied, initially failing to become alarmed.

"Will you please come with us?"

"Why certainly. May I first please cash in my chips?"

The gendarme nodded and the two followed him to Katy, the cashier. She returned him money for the chips.

"Two thousand," Smee told them. "Pretty lucky, huh?" He glanced around and for the first time noticed the additional guards on the door out of the Gambling Room.

As he accompanied the two guards and they approached the door, Smee suddenly made a dash for the door and crashed through it, shoving Leroy aside and slamming it shut behind him. He was now in the main room of the café where he pulled a gun and fired it at the door. At the sound of the gunshot the restaurant erupted into pandemonium. Nick saw what was happening and rapidly approached Smee.

Smee saw him and grabbed him, "Nick, Nick. You've got to help me!" The man was desperate.

"Don't be an idiot, Smee! You can't get away!"

"Nick! Nick, you must hide me! You must help me! Do something!"

Guards, officers and gendarmes all ran in to collar and contain Smee.

"Nick! Nick!" Smee called back as he was dragged out of the café.

Nolen was watching all this and after Smee was removed from their premises he said to his boss, "I hope, Mr. Nick that when they come to get me, you'll be more helpful."

Nick shook his head. "I stick my neck out for nobody." He slowly made his way to the center of the café and addressed his clientele, "I'm so sorry we had a little disturbance here this evening, but it's all over now. Everything is all right. Sit down, have a good time. Enjoy yourself." He spoke in a calm voice and many of the upset customers murmured briefly amongst themselves but then returned to their seats. They'd have a great story to tell others tomorrow. Always something happening at Nick's Café. Always the place to be. You never knew what might happen when you went there.

Nick nodded to Jefferson who began another of his rousing tunes. As Nick walked back through the restaurant he passed the table where Swan, Spender, and Cassady were sitting.

"Nicky," Emma called out to him. He stopped. "May I introduce Major George Spender of the Third Reich." After a moment she added, "And his attaché, Obersleutnant Cassady. Gentlemen, This is Nicholas Gold."

"Yes, please join us Monsieur Gold," Spender pointed to another of the empty chairs at his table.

Nick hesitated, but did sit down.

"We are very honored tonight, Nicky. Major Spender is one of the reasons the Third Reich enjoys the reputation that it has today," Emma praise was double-edged to Nick's ears.

Spender frowned, "You say 'Third Reich' like you were expecting there to be others, Capitaine Swan."

"Personally Major, I'll take what comes," she replied.

Spender turned his attention to Nick, "May I ask you a few questions, Monsieur Gold, unofficially, of course."

Nick shrugged. "Make it official if you like."

"What is your nationality?"

"I'm a drunkard," Nick responded neutrally.

Emma couldn't help but laugh out loud. She explained to Spender, "Nicky is a citizen of the world."

Nick explained, "I was born in Glasgow, Scotland, and moved to New York City when I was fourteen."

"I understand you came here from Paris at the start of the occupation," Spender continued.

"There seems to be no secret about that," Nick admitted.

"Are you one of those people who cannot imagine Germans in their beloved Paris?"

"Well, it's not particularly my beloved Paris."

"How about Germans in London?"

Nick gave him a slight smile. "Ask me when you get there."

Swan chuckled. "Being a diplomat, Nicky?"

"How about Germans in New York?" Spender persisted.

"Well there are certain sections of New York that I wouldn't advise you to try to invade."

"Who do you think will win the war?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

Emma spoke up, "Nicky is completely neutral about everything."

"You weren't always so carefully neutral. We have a complete dossier on you." Spender held out his hand to Cassady who promptly handed him a black notebook which he had taken from one of his interior jacket pockets. Spender turned through it and began to read, "Nicholas Gold. Born in Scotland. American citizen. Cannot return to either country." Spender looked up. "The reasons seem to be a little vague. We also know what you were doing in Paris, Monsieur Gold and we know why you left Paris."

Nick reached over and took the book from Spender's hand.

Spender spoke calmly. "Don't worry. We aren't going to broadcast it."

"Am I only five foot eight? I thought I was taller," Nick remarked, apparently puzzling over some of the information he was finding out about himself.

"You will forgive my curiosity, Monsieur Gold. But an enemy of the Reich has come to Casa d'Ora and we are checking up on anybody who can be of any help to us."

Nick looked over at Emma. "My interest in whether Gaston LeGume stays or goes is purely a sporting one."

"In this situation you have no sympathy for the fox?" Spender continued to question him.

"Not particularly. I understand the point of view of the hound too."

"Gaston LeGume published the foulest lies in the Prague newspapers until the very day we marched in. Even after that, he continued to publish scandal sheets in a cellar."

Emma commented, "Of course, one has to admit that he has great courage."

"I will admit that he is very clever. Three times he has slipped through our fingers. In Paris he continued his activities. We intend for it not to happen again."

Appearing bored, Nick stood up. "Please excuse me Major, Obersleutnant, Emma. Your business is politics. Mine is running a saloon."

"Good evening Monsieur Gold," Spender nodded at him and Nick turned to return to the Gambling Room.

"You see, Major. You have nothing to worry about with Nicky," Emma assured the German officer.

"Perhaps," the Major replied.

It was at that moment another couple entered the café. It was a large man, confident and handsome, and a petite, very pretty heart-shaped face woman with sparkling cornflower blue eyes. Nolen greeted them.

"I'm Gaston LeGume. I reserved a table," the man addressed him.

**A.N. Okay, okay, so I caved to reviewer pressure and had Belle make it into this, only the second, chapter (so it ran just a bit longer than I had planned – hope you're happy; the third chapter will be a bit shorter). I promise we will see more of her in the third chapter. **

**The music is from Abney Park's "Until the Day You Die." Anachronistic, I know but such a 40's sounding tune. And just an odd note, the piano is the movie script is described as "pink," honestly! I couldn't resist the parrallel to Gold's pink house. -txm**

**And of course, of course, thank you, thank you, to those early reviewers, Anna (Guest), nightmaregirl, tigger64, Spirit Watch, AnonymouslyYoursSeven, Leafena, Julie Winchester, juju0268, Girlyemma96 and ****Grace5231973**

**And to Hermitess (Guest)(thx, I admit that I will have to make some major shifts to make the reworking hold; I'm going back to the initial script idea that got changed at the last moment – for the better – we would all agree for the movie. As the original writers realized, to make this work, I shall have to change one of the primary character's core, well, character. Hope it will work for you thx) **

_NEXT: Nick encounters someone from his past_

_Nick breaks a precedent_

_Emma has an unwelcome visitor_


	3. All the Gin Joints

_Nick's place was always the place to be. Just that evening, an actual murderer had been arrested, gunshots had been fired right there in the restaurant. And now there was the news, spreading like wildfire, that the famous resistance leader, Gaston LeGume, had come to Casa d'Ora and had been spotted at Nick's. _

Chapter Three: Of all the Gin Joints

Another couple had just entered the café. It's a large man, confident and handsome, and a petite, very pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and sparkling cornflower blue eyes. Nolen greeted them.

"I'm Gaston LeGume. I reserved a table," the man addressed him.

"Yes sir, please follow me," Nolan told him and led the couple into the restaurant. As they passed Jefferson on the piano, the piano player hung his head, trying, without success, to make himself inconspicuous. The young woman stared at him as she walked past, looking back at him.

Nolen seated them and took an order for zaalouk, bread, pastilla and mint tea. Emma and Spender were watching the newly arrived couple from their vantage.

"I'm not seeing anyone of Mr. Smee's description," Gaston told his pretty companion. Although she was not dressed in the fabulous evening wear of many of the other women and wore no jewelry, her delicate beauty still managed to outshine them all.

"I'm not comfortable here, Gaston. I don't think we should stay here," she spoke in a silken low voice.

"If we walk out so soon, it will call more attention to us," Gaston explained. "Perhaps Smee is in another part of the café."

A young, dark haired man approached their table. "Pardon me, but you look like a couple on their way to America."

"Well?" said Gaston.

"You will find a market there for this ring. I'm forced to sell it at a great sacrifice." The young man knelt by the table and showed Gaston a ring, a rather plain ring set with a large blue stone.

"Thank you, but I hardly think. . . " Gaston began.

"Then perhaps for the lady? The ring is pretty, quite unique." The young man lifted the stone to reveal the Lorraine Cross of General Charles De Gaulle.

Gaston recognized the ring. . . and what it stood for. "Oh yes, I am very interested."

The young man joined them at the table.

"What is your name?" Gaston asked the young man, whispering by long force of habit.

"August Booth, Norwegian. At your service, sir."

Emma approached the table and the young woman sitting by Gaston spoke up a warning, "Gaston."

He understood. In a low voice he told August, "I will meet you at the bar in a few minutes." Out loud he said, "No, I do not think we want to buy the ring. But thank you for showing it to us."

August sighed, playing along. He put the ring away. "So sorry. Such a bargain. But that is your decision?"

"I'm sorry. It is." Gaston seemed genuinely regretful.

August moved away from the table as Emma approached. "Bon soir. I am Capitaine Swan, the Prefect of Police here in Casa d'Ora."

Gaston nodded, "Yes. What is it you want?"

"Merely to welcome you to Casa d'Ora and wish you a pleasant stay. It is not often that we have such a distinguished visitor."

"Thank you, but you will forgive me, Capitaine, the present French administration has not always been so cordial." He turned to his companion. "May I present Miss Ilsabelle French."

"We are a city of many beautiful women, Miss French. You certainly add to our reputation."

Ilsabelle looked up at the beautiful police captain and smiled gently, "You are too kind."

Hesitating a moment, Gaston asked the police captain, "Won't you join us?" Emma sat down.

Jesse came by at that moment with their food. "If you will permit me," Emma spoke to the pretty waitress, "Jesse, a bottle of your finest champagne and put it on my bill."

Jesse nodded and went over to Tina to take care of the order.

"Oh no, Capitaine, please," Gaston protested.

"Oh please, it is a little game we play. They put it on my bill. I tear the bill up. It is very convenient," Emma smiled her brightest, most disarming smile.

"Capitiane," Miss Ilsabelle spoke to Capitaine Swan. "The man playing the piano. I have seen him somewhere before."

"Jefferson?"

"Yes, Jefferson," Ilsabelle agreed, as if she was sure before but needed to hear the name from someone else.

"He came here from Paris with Nicky," Emma explained.

"Nicky? Who is he?" Ilsabelle asked.

"Mademoiselle?" Emma is surprised. "Nicky is Nicholas Gold. He is the owner of this establishment. As one woman to another, I will tell you that he is a most interesting man."

At that moment, Major Spender and Captain Cassady chose to come over and Capitaine Swan jumped to her feet.

"Ah Major," she turned to Gaston and his companion. "Monsieur LeGume, Mademoiselle French, may I present Major George Spender and Oberslautnant Cassady of the Third Reich."

Spender drew himself up formally. "This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to. How do you do?"

Gaston did not ask him to sit down. "You must excuse me if I'm not gracious, Major Spender. But you see, I am Czechoslovakian."

Spender immediately corrected him. "Sir, you _were_ a Czechoslovakian. You are now a proud subject of the German Reich."

Gaston stood. "I have never accepted that privilege. And now I'm on French soil."

Spender had remained standing. "I should like to discuss some matters arising from your presence here on French soil."

"This is hardly the time or the place," Gaston was not going to be bullied.

"Then shall we state another time and another place?" Spender wasn't backing down. "How about ten o'clock in the Prefect's office, with mademoiselle."

"Capitaine Swan, I'm under your authority. Is it your order that we come to your office?"

Emma had enough grace to wince a little. She responded, "Let us say that it is my request. That is a more pleasant word."

Gaston nodded to her. "As you wish, then Capitaine."

Spender stood and nodded to Emma, leaving the café with his aide (who managed one last glance back at the lovely police captain). Emma noticed the look but did not cast another glance his way. She then made her way back to her own table.

"This time, they really mean to stop me," Gaston sat down again next to Ilsa.

"Oh Gaston, I'm afraid for you."

He smiled at her. "Well, we have been in difficult places before, haven't we my dear?" upbeat as ever. They ate in silence for a while, sipping the champagne that Emma had gotten for them.

Gaston looked around at the bar. "Still no Smee. I wonder what Herr Booth knows. Darling, I must go talk with him. I will act like I am getting us something else to drink."

"Be careful, darling," Ilsa told him. She gave him a smile. "I am going to see if the piano player can come over here."

"Of course, my dear. Don't worry," he reassured her.

Gaston casually approached the bar. "Two champagne cocktails, sil vous plait," he asked Tina.

"Certainement," she told him and busied herself with preparations.

Gaston settled in by August Booth. "Herr Booth. That ring. I think I might like to see it again."

"I thought you might want to see it. It is of excellent quality," Booth told him.

Booth passed the ring over to him and then he whispered, "I recognized you from the news photographs, Monsiuer LeGume."

"I have lost a little weight."

"We heard five times that you were killed in five different places."

"As you can see, it was true every time," Gaston replied wryly. "Thank heaven I found you, Herr Booth. I am looking for a man by the name of William Smee. He is supposed to be able to help me."

Booth shook his head, "Oh monsieur, William Smee cannot even help himself. He is under arrest for murder. He was arrested this evening in this very café."

Gaston took a deep breathe. "I see."

"But we who are still free we will do everything we can to help you," Booth promised him fervently. "We are organized, monsieur. Underground, like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the Caverne du Bois. If you would come. . . " He stopped talking when Tina handed the drinks to Gaston.

At the table, sitting by herself, Ilsabelle was enjoying hearing Jefferson sing and play. She waved down Jesse. "Waitress, would it be possible to have the piano player come over here, please?"

"Of course mademoiselle," Jesse responded brightly. "Un moment."

Having finished her own meal, Swan approached Booth and LeGume at the bar, "How's the jewelry business, Booth?" she asked.

He shrugged and sighed and shook his head. "Not so good, Capitaine. Tina, may I have my bill?"

Emma slid in next to Gaston. "Too bad, you were not here earlier, Monsieur LeGume. We had quite a bit of excitement this evening, didn't we, Herr Booth?"

Booth avoided looking at Emma. "Yes," he agreed and then was saved from further contact with the police officer by Tina who handed him her bill. Booth paid it and, nodding, beat a retreat.

"I believe I would like my bill," Gaston said to Tina. He was equally anxious to break away from the pretty officer.

"Oh no," Emma intervened. "Tina, put anything to Monsieur LeGume on my tab."

In the restaurant, Jefferson had heeded Jesse's request from Ilsabelle to come over to her table. He had wheeled his piano over and was now sitting next to Mademoiselle Ilsabelle. They both seemed nervous, even awkward around each other. Ilsabelle finally put a smile on her face. "Hello, Jefferson."

"Hey Miss Belle. I never expected to see you again." Jefferson began aimlessly playing out a soulful melody.

"It has been a long time," she agreed with him.

"A lot of water under the bridge," Jefferson continued to try to fill the empty silence between them.

She nodded and softly she said, "Some of the old songs, please, Jefferson."

Jefferson began to play an old romantic tune.

"Where is Nicholas?"

"He's in the. . . uh. . . I don't know. I. . . I haven't seen him all night," Jefferson answered quickly, nervously.

"When will he be back?" her voice was soft, but determined.

"Not tonight. He's. . . he's not coming in tonight." As an afterthought Jefferson added. "He went home early."

"Does he always leave so early?" she continued to press him.

"He never. . .uh. . . well, he's got this girl over at The Red Heart. He's probably over there with her. Yeah. Right now . . . with her. . . over there. . . not here. He's not here." Jefferson stumbled over the words.

Ilsabelle smiled at him. "You used to be a much better liar, Jefferson."

"Oh, Miss Belle, leave him alone. You're bad luck to him."

She nodded, acknowledging a past neither one wanted to talk about. "Why don't you play it for me, Jefferson? For old time's sake."

Jefferson was shaking his head. "I don't know. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please play it, Jefferson. Play 'As Time Goes By'."

"I can't remember it, Miss Belle," Jefferson was still shaking his head. "It's been so long."

"Here then, I'll hum it for you." She began the old romantic tune in a pleasant contralto.

He slowly began to hit some of the notes, the song slowly emerged.

"Sing it for me, Jefferson. Please."

_You must remember this_

_A kiss is just a kiss_

_A sigh is just a sigh._

_The fundamental things apply_

_As time goes by._

The door to the Gambling Hall burst open and a livid Nick came storming out, leaning on his cane and moving as fast as a bullet towards Jefferson.

Jefferson, with his back to the Gambling Hall door, continued to sing, unaware of the certain doom sweeping towards him.

_And when two lovers woo,_

_They still say 'I love you,'_

_On that you can rely. _

_No matter what the future brings_

_As time goes by._

Nick reached the piano. With great effort, remembering that this is his closest friend, in a soft, furiously angry voice he addressed Jefferson. "I thought I told you to never. . . ever. . . play that song. . . " he stopped. He has seen Ilsabelle.

Everything stops.

The two lock eyes. Nick is shocked, stunned, astonished. He stands motionless. Jefferson has stopped playing and prepares to push his piano away.

It was at that moment that Captain Swan and Monsiuer LeGume approached the table.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, you were asking about Nicky and here he is. May I present. . ."

Nick interrupted. He is unable to take his eyes off Ilsabelle, "Hello, Belle."

Still sitting in her chair, she smiled warmly up at him, "Hello, Nicholas."

Emma looked quickly at the two. "Is it possible that you two have already met?" Given her duel insights as a woman and a trained police officer, the tension between the two was difficult to miss. When there was no answer, Emma turned to introduce the fourth member of the group, "Then do you already know. . . ?"

"Nicholas, this is Gaston LeGume," Belle finished the introductions.

"How do you do?" Nick finally, with evident effort, pulled his eyes away from Ilsabelle.

"How do you do?" Gaston offered his hand which Nick took.

"One hears a great deal about Monsieur Nick in Casa d'Ora," Gaston, as ever, was confident and complimentary.

"And a great deal about Gaston LeGume everywhere," Nick was genuine in his compliment.

Gaston was gracious. "Would you join us for a drink?"

Emma laughed, "Oh no, Nicky never . . ."

Nick interrupted her. "Thank you. I believe I will." And he joined them at the table.

"Well," observed Emma, quite surprised, but actively speculating on what might be going on. "A precedent is being broken."

"This is a very interesting café," Gaston shared with Nick. "I congratulate you."

"And I congratulate you."

Puzzled, Gaston asked, "What for?"

"Your work," replied Nick in honest admiration.

"Thank you, I try."

"We all try. You succeed."

Emma can't stand it any longer. "I'm so curious as to what's going on here. You two," Emma pointed to Ilsabelle and Nick, "obviously know each other."

Ilsabelle looked at Nick with a shy smile, "I wasn't sure you were the same person. Let's see, the last time we met. . ."

"It was in a little café, much like this one, 'la Belle Aurore'," he finished, looking directly into her eyes, speaking softly.

"You remember. But of course, that was June 14th, the day the Germans marched into Paris."

"Not an easy day to forget."

"No," agreed Ilsabelle.

Nick continued, "I remember every detail. The Germans wore grey. You wore blue."

"Yes. I have put that dress away. I will wear it again when the Germans march out."

Emma had listened to the interchange, "Well, Nicky. You almost sound like a human being. I guess we have you to thank for that Mademoiselle."

Gaston spoke next, "Ilsa, I don't wish to be the one to say it. But it's late."

Emma glanced at her watch, "So it is. And we have a curfew here in Casa d'Ora. It would never do for the Prefect of Police to be found drinking after hours and have to fine herself."

"I hope we didn't overstay our welcome," Gaston said graciously.

"Not at all," replied Nick. "Please come again."

Jesse had come over and began to hand Monsieur LeGume the check, but Nick took it.

"Thank you Mary Margaret, but this is my party," Nick directed her.

"And yet another precedent is broken," Emma observed, more sure than ever that there was a story here. _Something definitely had happened between Nicky and this Ilsabelle_ "This has been a very interesting evening. Let me call you a cab. Gasoline rationing. Time of night," she explained.

"We'll come again," promised Gaston.

"Any time," Nick responded.

"Say goodnight to Jefferson for me," Ilsabelle asked him.

"I will," promised Nick.

All say goodnight to each other. Nick sat in a daze and watched them go, watched Belle go.

On their way out, Gaston leaned in to Ilsabelle. "A very puzzling fellow this Nicholas Gold. What sort of man is he?"

"Oh," replied Ilsabelle. "I really couldn't say, although I saw him quite often in Paris."

Emma joined them on the curb, waiting with them for their taxi. She reminded them. "Tomorrow, my office at ten."

"We'll be there," promised Gaston.

Emma was in her own flat. It was very late evening. She was tired. It had been a long day. She sighed. As much as she enjoyed Nicky's company, the man obviously had no real interest in her. He'd flirt with her, but there was nothing more between them. A pity.

She had wondered for a while there if he liked women at all. But then that woman, Mademoiselle Ilsabelle, came in and for the first time, Emma saw the fire within the man. Anger, passion, something had certainly happened between them. It was palpable. The air between the two positively sizzled. She had no doubt the two had been lovers. No doubt at all.

Had the woman thrown him over? For Gaston? Why would any woman do that? Gaston was powerful and attractive at first glance, but a man like Nicky, ah now, there was depth. Nicky was a man who would take his time to satisfy a woman.

There was a knock on the door. At this hour? It had to be official.

A trained police officer, Emma was careful. She stood to one side of the door. "Yes."

"Neal Cassady."

_Merde! __What does he want?_

"What do you want?" she asked him, not eager to see him, to talk with him, to breath the same air that he breathed.

"I had to come. I had to tell you how sorry I am. How badly I felt for what happened."

Emma leaned against the wall. She finally managed to respond. "All right." She waited, hoping he will go away. She could tell he was still there, "You've told me." She continued to lean against the wall. _Now please, please go away._

After a moment, she heard, "Please, Emma. I have to talk with you."

"Go ahead." _Batard._

"I can't do it with a door between us. Please, I need to see you."

Emma hesitated. Really hesitated.

She slowly unlocked and unlatched the door. Neal slipped inside her apartment quickly.

"My god. Emma you are even more beautiful than you were when you were eighteen." Neal took off his jacket and set it on the back of one of Emma's chairs.

"Yeah, I was young and innocent and foolish then. I suppose I have you to thank for my education."

"Emma, I've told you there are things about myself that I can't tell you. I wish I could. I _had_ to go when I did and I _couldn't_ get a message to you. I tried to find you afterwards, but you had disappeared."

"Did you try the woman's correctional facility?"

"What?! No! Is that what happened to you?" Neal seemed genuinely surprised.

"After that little errand you sent me on, I got caught. Accessory after the fact. I got a year, had to serve nine months," she explained tersely. _They let me go after I had the baby, probably felt sorry for me._

"Emma, I didn't know. I had no way to know." Neal sat down, looking genuinely in despair. "I wish. . . " he shook his head.

"I could just go ahead and shoot you here and now. I'm Prefect of Police. If I say I've heard an intruder and, oops, it turns out to be you, well, there would be no problem."

"Emma, I understand why you would want to shoot me. But please, I can't explain, but I _had_ to go when I did. I was so sorry to leave you alone, but, with my job, there was no way I could get word to you. I tried to get money to you."

"Where the hell did you go? And what the hell kind of job did you have? The last time I saw you, you were a petty thief thinking about going straight. The next time you're an officer of the German army. Doing very well for yourself, I think."

"Well, how about you? The last time I saw you, you were a petty thief _not_ really thinking about going straight. The next time, you're the prefect of police in a backwater city. Doing very well for yourself, I think."

"Yeah I worked my ass off to get this position. No thanks to you. You left me alone and penniless." _and pregnant._

Cassady looked pained and hesitated. "I told you that there are things about myself I can't share."

"Yeah, like you're a Nazi?"

"Emma, I'm sorry for how things worked out between us. I didn't mean for it to end like it did. I came by to apologize and beg your forgiveness." He reached for her and took her hand. It was warm and strong and firm and he smelled really good. Really good.

He pulled her over to him and then he began to wrap his arms around her and then he began to kiss her. _Like it hadn't been eleven years. _And then she began to wrap her arms around him. _Like he hadn't set her up to take the fall for him. _And then she began to kiss him back._ Like he hadn't gotten her pregnant and abandoned her._ And then he had her backed up against the wall. _It had been so long. _And then he was pinning her between the wall and his hard body. _It had been too long. _And then she felt his hands getting inside of her clothes, pulling her shirt up from out of her pants, then pushing up to her breasts, pressing skin to skin. _This was really, really wrong. _He was lifting her up to pull her legs around him.

"No, no, no," Emma gasped out. _This took every bit of strength she had._ "I'm not doing this with you." She managed to push him away and settled herself back onto shaky feet. "You need to go."

"You're seeing someone else, aren't you?" he asked, not backing up any further than she had pushed him away.

"I'd say that's none of your business."

"It's that café owner, isn't it? What's his name? Nicky, Nicholas Gold?"

"He's old enough to be my papa," Emma retorted.

"So he knows how to take care of you."

"He is not my lover," Emma tells him with a touch of exasperation. "You need to go."

"Oh please Emma." _Now he looked contrite._

"I can still shoot you," and for impact she took her gun from its holster. She held it away from her body and pointed it toward the floor.

"All right," Neal backed up and headed towards the door. "I wish, Emma, I wish I could tell you. . ."

Emma watched him leave. She latched the door and locked it. She stood for a moment after she shut the door, tears slowly springing to her eyes. _Oh damn, he'd left his jacket. _She picked it up and looked at it. _What the hell._ She began to go through his pockets. _What is this? _She found a silver colored disc inset on one side with an eagle with outstretched wings sitting on a swastika and the other side inlaid with the words 'Geheime Staatspolizei.' There was a number underneath it.

She had to sit down. _Gestapo! Neal is Gestapo! Is he spying on Spender or on her. . . or on both of them? _

It was a moment before she could pull herself together. She slowly walked into her bedroom. She sat on her bed. _What was wrong with her? Was she still in love with the salaud?! _After a moment, she picked up a picture she has by the side of her bed. It is a young boy, perhaps ten or eleven.

Emma was crying in earnest as she looks at the picture. "I'm so sorry, Henri. I'm so sorry"

Henri was in school in Switzerland, in a place she hoped was safe. Every penny she had went to his upkeep. No one here knew about him. It was better that way.

Outside of her door, Neal leaned back against the wall.

_This had not gone as well as he would have liked it to. _

_But not as badly as it could have gone. _

_He'd been stunned to run into her again. _

_He'd had to see her. _

_She could have shot him without giving him a chance to speak. He at least got a chance to put his hands on her. . . and she was as deliciously warm and spicy as she had ever been. Feisty. Emma had always been spirited and gutsy. A capable woman who would always land on her feet. A police captain, no less. _

He ran his heads through his hair.

_What a mess he had made of things. Falling in love with a woman. Then having to leave her. He should have quit his job. She'd've been worth it. _

He looked back at the door of the apartment.

_He'd left his jacket behind on purpose. She was a woman and a police officer. She wouldn't be able to resist going through his pockets. And then she'd find it. _

_Yeah, he was taking a chance with her. Would she sit on the information or would she turn him into Spender? If he'd read her correctly, she well and truly disliked Spender and would not be doing him any favors . . .unless she disliked him even more._

And this was only the first part of the puzzle. Would he have time to play all the pieces?

It was now very late at night. All of his girls had tried to stay to comfort him. They could see how upset he was.

Pretty Tina had brought him one of her specialty cocktails. He thanked her for it and then asked if she could bring him a bottle of whiskey. She did. . . reluctantly.

Jesse brought him a slice of spice cake from the kitchen. "I guessed you were too busy to eat supper." He told her to keep it for herself. He wasn't hungry.

Ruby was the bravest. She offered to give him a neck rub. "You seem pretty tense."

He glared at her. "Go away Ruby," he told her. "All of you, go away."

"You know you can talk with any one of us, if you need to Mr. Nick," Mary Margaret told him, before leaving out.

"Go away," he told her harshly.

Mary Margaret still graced him with a smile, "Yes, sir. I really appreciate the opportunity you're giving me," she said kindly before stepping away from him.

He was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't see Nolen escort Mary Margaret out.

Nick was now sitting at one of the tables in the empty restaurant. He was drinking whiskey, glass after glass. There is an extra empty glass in front of an empty chair in front of him.

It was Jefferson who finally tiptoed in, "Boss?" he said softly. There was no answer.

A bit more loudly, "Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Boss, aren't you going to bed?"

"Not right now," replied Nick.

"Are you planning on going to bed in the near future?"

"No,"

"You ever going to bed?"

"No."

"Well, I'm not sleepy either."

Jefferson had a long history with Nicholas Gold. Jefferson had probably known Nick longer than anyone else and certainly knew him better than anyone else. Nick had saved his life on more than one occasion, starting with literally pulling him out of the gutter in a dark, back alley in Paris, too high to realize he had fallen face down into sewer water. Nick had taken him in, sobered him up, given him a chance, a chance he desperately needed at the time. Jefferson had been inconsolable after the death of his young wife and had turned to drugs and alcohol to get him through the day. . .and the night. His drug of choice had been opium but he was open-minded and would use whatever he could find at the time. It was Nick who had gotten his precious daughter into an upscale boarding school in California. It was Nick who had gotten him playing the piano in the restaurant that he was operating at the time. It was Nick who had helped him understand that he needed to stay clean and sober for his daughter's sake. Jefferson quickly realized that he couldn't tolerate any drugs or any alcohol. Anything would tip him over and spiral him out of control.

"Good, then have a drink," Nick directed him. _Nick was really drunk to have offered him whiskeyl_

"No not me. You know how I am. No, thank you."

"Then don't have a drink. You saw him. How can I compete against the great Gaston LeGume."

"Uh, Boss. You're probably not in competition with him."

"Hell if I'm not. She's with him."

"She may be with him, but I don't think she's _with _him."

"I'm too drunk. You're not making sense."

"Oh Boss, you know I've lived a bad, crazy life. You saved me from myself. I've seen some things that maybe you haven't. The great man who just came in with your Belle is a poufer."

"A what?"

Jefferson spit out a series of names, "A schwuler, a maricon, puto, pédé."

Nick's befuddled brain struggled to comprehend. "An earache? What? How do you know this?"

"He hit on me. It was quick and brief, but I've been hit on plenty of times before. I knew what was happening. I told him, no thanks." Jefferson shrugged. This type of thing had indeed happened to him before. "Boss, let's get out of here," he pleaded with Nick.

"Not right now. I'm waiting for a lady," Nick slurred his speech.

"No Boss. Let's go. There's nothing but trouble for you there."

"She's coming back. I know she's coming back," Nick looked at his empty glass and poured himself another drink.

"We can take the car and drive on into the desert. I'll watch over you while you get high, or drunk or stoned or whatever. We can drive over to the ocean and do some fishing. We can stay away until she's gone."

"Shut up and go home," Nick ordered him.

"No. I don't think so, Boss. I'm staying right here." And Jefferson began to idly hit keys on the piano.

Nick took another drink. "They grab Smee and then _she_ walks in. Well, that's the way it goes. One out. One in. Jefferson?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"If it's November, 1941, in Casa d'Ora, what time is it in New York City?"

"Man, my watch has stopped."

"I bet they're asleep in New York. I bet they're asleep all over America." He pounded the table and buried his head in his hands. "Of all the gin joints in all the world, she has to walk into mine," he mourned.

Jefferson, wisely, did not respond. He continued to idly hit keys and play simple melodies.

"What are you playing Jefferson?"

"Oh, just a little something of my own."

"Well stop it. You know what I want to hear."

"Oh no, Boss. I don't know."

"You played it for her. You can play it for me."

"I don't know Boss."

"Play it, Jefferson. Play it. If she can stand it, so can I."

Slowly Jefferson started to play the haunting melody while Nick's head sank onto his arms and onto the table.

_NEXT: What happened in Paris_

**An extra special thanks to Julie Winchester (who is helping me with my high school/internet French – I've made a minor, modest change in the Chapter 2 thanks to her feedback). Merci, merci. **

**Thanks to Leafena, RainMirror, juju0268, Anna (Guest), Anonymous Nerd Girl, Guest (reviewer-2), and Sarah Kathleen who all offered reviews.**

**And to GoGoingGone (hopefully, I'll keep my inner Golden Swan from coming through and keep your readership).**

**And to Guest(reviewer-1) (You were absolutely right with Belle's identity; I was concerned if 'Spender' would be recognized for who he is – you got it). **

**Thx to all - txm **


	4. What Happened in Paris

**A.N. This is mostly smut (hence the M rating for the tale). I always approach writing such stuff with some trepidation, but it seemed called for at this point and I hope you enjoy. txm**

_A beautiful, compelling woman from cynical, derisive Nicholas Gold's past has come back into his life. Only now she is the companion of a heroic, charismatic resistance fighter. Nick remembers their shared past._

Chapter 4: What Happened in Paris

They had met by happenstance. She had wandered into his café mid-morning and he had been immediately drawn to her. A fine, delicate beauty with sparkling eyes. They were two simply, lonely people in the City of Lights, the City of Love. They had begun by sharing a cup of Caffè Americano in the morning, then white wine at lunch. Soon enough, he was sharing red wine with her at supper. Quickly enough, the suppers had turned into romantic candlelight dinners, sometimes downstairs in his café, eventually upstairs in his private apartment.

She had loved Jefferson's version of _As Time Goes By _and Nick would often have him play it while they shared a meal or just enjoyed other moments together. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He enjoyed just sitting and watching her move around and chatter. Her smile lit up the room, her laughter lit up his heart. He had never felt this way about anything, certainly not about a woman. He had never been in love before but he had soon realized that what he felt for this woman wasn't just raw physical attraction. It was something bigger and better than he had ever felt.

She had been tidying up his cluttered apartment and, in disgust at the amount of dust and grime, had pulled his curtains off his windows. "You nailed these onto the wall?" she had asked him, not believing what she was finding.

Chagrined now, although he thought he had been clever when he had done it, he admitted doing so, saying the rod had broken and the light coming in had bothered him. She had washed, mended and replaced the curtains properly. Now he was watching her arrange flowers on his windowsill. _Flowers on his windowsill! She had put flowers on his windowsill! No one had ever put flowers on his windowsill!_

"Who are you really? And what were you before? What did you do? What did you think?" he asked her one afternoon.

"We said, no questions," she reminded him, kindly.

He had chosen to call her Belle. And he was like no one she had ever met, hardened, cynical, acquisitive. So many odd, beautiful and valuable things were in his private apartment. She began to suspect she might be another one of these acquisitions. When they were out together, he would keep her close to him, often touching her, and other men would steer clear of her, as if he had somehow marked her as one of his precious possessions. Yet as hard-bitten and uncompromising as he was, she often saw a softer side to him, kind, caring, sometimes even gentle.

Nicholas's presence made her feel alive, more alive than she had ever felt. When he looked at her, she tingled. She knew he was older than she, much older. He seemed so worldly, so experienced, so competent and capable. She felt safe with him.

Nicholas persisted, "I understand. But I am wondering. Why am I so lucky? Why I should find you waiting for me to come along?"

"Why there is no other man in my life?" she suggested.

"Exactly."

"That's easy. There was. He's dead," she said it matter-of-factly.

"I am sorry for asking. We did say 'no questions'." Now he felt that he had intruded.

"Well, how about you?" she turned on him. "Why am I so lucky? Why should I find you waiting for me to come along?"

"Why there is no other woman in my life?" he finished.

"Exactly," she gave him her gentle smile.

"That's easy. There was. She's dead," he repeated her words.

_Too painful. Can't go there._

She shook her head, also feeling as if she had stepped over a line. "I am sorry. Let's go back to 'no questions'."

000000000

They were spending more and more time together. Now, most of their time together was in his place above the café he owned, not so often in her hotel room. It was late one evening, after one of his candlelight suppers in his apartment.

He was just looking at her thinking that she was the most exquisite, most desirable thing he had ever seen. He couldn't handle much more or this; he had to make the effort to make her his own. "Don't go," he begged her, as he had been longing to beg her now for many days. "Stay with me. Life is so uncertain. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

She hesitated only a moment before allowing him to take her into his arms and guide her into his bedroom. "And I don't want to lose you. But Nicholas, darling," she was suddenly shy with him. "You should know something."

"Anything you want to tell me." He was holding her and had started to kiss her, enjoying her sweet, shy, innocent responding. _Innocent?! _He pulled back.

She dropped her sparkling blue eyes, large and shining, down from his. He had to lean in to hear her. "I've not been with a man before, Nicholas. I want to be with you, but I'm a little afraid."

_A virgin! How long had it been for him since he had had a virgin. His wife had been a virgin and that had not gone well. He had been untutored and clumsy and likely had caused her more discomfort that he should have. He hadn't really known what to do, how best to do it. He had been inexperienced himself. She didn't like his touch, didn't want his touch, never wanted his touch. Later, he'd discovered that she had welcomed other men into her life, her bed, but not him, never him. Would he ruin everything with his Belle because he didn't manage this well? He didn't want that. He wanted her to have the most glorious experience of her life. _

He thought that he had likely learned some things since that first disastrous effort. He hoped he had.

"I'm honored, Belle. I will try to try to be gentle," he promised her.

"Wait a moment, my dear," she stepped out of his grasp. "I was perhaps a little silly today," she began a confession. "I was thinking about you. I think about you a lot," she shared and blushed. He thought it was the most charming thing he had ever seen. She paused and collected herself before continuing, "and I was thinking, I was hoping, that tonight you might ask me to stay, so I went by Aubade's."

_Aubade's! The lingerie shop?! The fabulous lingerie shop of courtesans, whores and royalty? _

"I bought something I thought you might like," and she began to unfasten her dress, slowly unbuttoning the front of her simple dress. He allowed her to step back and after a brief moment, he sat down in a comfortable chair. _This should prove interesting._

He watched with ever growing appreciation at the slow reveal. There seemed to be a lot of buttons she had to unfasten. She slipped the sleeves off her arms. _What was she wearing under her simple dress?_

It was a lace and satin confection, white, suitable for a bride. It was essentially a corset that cinched her waist, lifted her generous bosom, barely covering her breasts and ending in garters that held up silken stockings. She dropped her dark blue dress from around her hips allowing it to fall to the floor at her feet, leaving her standing as if she had arisen like a pearl statue from a pool of dark blue silk, an ocean of sultry, undulating waves of shimmery fabric.

He had been more than half-aroused before, simply being in her presence produced a physical response, but now, seeing her pale and round and soft and perfectly formed, standing, waiting for him, he realized that he was fully erect and ready, ready, more than ready for her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As much he was being driven by his own desires, he knew he had to make this about her. If he ever hoped to bed her again, she had to experience fulfillment at his hands and his fingers and his tongue and his cock and whatever else he could bring to the game.

_Damn._ This wasn't going to be easy. He wanted nothing more than to throw her down on the bed and drive himself relentlessly into her, pounding her into senselessness and satiation. Wanting to hear her beg him for more, wanting to hear her plead with him not to stop, wanting her . . .wanting her.

She stood still. Waiting for him to say something. She was becoming anxious about his silence. _Had she been too forward, too presumptuous, too bold, too slutty? She really didn't know what she was doing. _After a long moment of silence, she spoke up, "The saleswoman assured me that this would please any man," she told him quietly. "Do you like it?"

He realized he had stopped breathing. "We need to send the saleswoman flowers. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. Come here," he ordered her. She approached him slowly, not quite sure of herself.

He pulled her down onto his lap, her gentle rose fragrance wafting up to him.

"I like your perfume," he told her.

She whispered back, "I'm not wearing any."

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. He gave a soft laugh, "I'm in so much trouble," he admitted.

He realized that she was trembling. She felt, as he had no doubt intended, at a distinct disadvantage wearing just her revealing, provocative under garments while he was still fully attired in his pants and shirt. Nick was enjoying himself very much.

As she sat on him, he could feel her perfectly shaped little ass squirming on his hardened cock. He took one hand and held her still, not wanting to spill himself then and there. He kissed her just below the ear and down her neck, feeling her shiver. With his other hand he began to explore the top of the corset the truly wicked Aubade's saleswoman had put her in. It just barely covered the rosy tips of her breasts and with minimal effort he was able to lower the top so that her already hardened nipples peeked out. He was just able to insert his hand down into the cups of the corset's top and he began to caress one of her breasts. He restrained himself from pinching the nipple, thinking she was too new to the game to appreciate the potential that could come from merging pain and pleasure. He made himself focus on enjoying the feel of her little body, warm and wriggling in his grasp. He managed (just managed) to pick her up and take the two steps he had to, to deposit her on the bed.

"Shall I undress?" she asked him, lying on her back, looking up at him. "I'll need help in getting out of this."

"Oh god no, I intend to have you as you are. Well, maybe these little panties can go" and he reached down and pulled off the barely there undies, leaving her in the corset and silk stockings. "We will want to get your money's worth out of this corset." He bent himself to kissing the tips of her breasts, gently taking a nipple into his mouth and suckling. He heard her startled cry as the intensity of his attentions hit her. She seemed to like it, holding on to the sheets and arching her back, lifting herself up into his mouth. He dropped his hand to brush between her legs and came away. . . damp.

_Excellent_.

He wanted nothing more than to bury his head between her legs to inhale her scent, to lick, kiss, nibble and suck on the tender, delicate flesh, but he stopped himself, afraid this intimacy would shock her. Not yet. Another time. This time, his hand went back between her legs, at first using his palm, then gently massaging the tender tissue, his fingers occasionally brushing her shy, lady-like feminine numb. She stiffened the first time he touched her _there, _and he pulled back, not wanting to rush her. After giving her a moment, he went back to gentle massage, sometimes teasing, sometimes firm, but ever-steady pressure. She squirmed, she clasped his shoulders holding on as if he were a life preserver, and she began to gasp, her breathing becoming increasingly ragged.

"What are you doing to me?" she managed to ask, breathlessly.

"Making love to you," he murmured his answer. He then moved his lips up her neck and ended up, gently kissed her lips, then pulled back, then kissed her again, this time harder, then stopped just a moment, giving her time to catch her breath, then he was taking possession of her lips, her mouth, his tongue entering her mouth as a prelude to his darkest intentions. He continued to use his hand and fingers to stimulate her, putting a single finger into her, feeling her untried body resist, then accept the intrusion. _Good god, she was incredibly tight around his finger! How would it feel to have his cock in her? It would likely be a bit rough for both of them. _He moved his finger in and out, slowly and then allowed his other fingers to slip inside her folds, finding her nub had hardened and engorged, gently, now that she was wet, very wet, he was able to touch her in the most familiar manner possible and pleasure her, stroking her, rubbing, stimulating her until she convulsed in his arms, her whole body shaking and arching and she screamed his name and clutched at him. And he didn't stop, continuing his attentions and, as she started to shiver again, he somehow, using one hand to unfasten his belt and pant buttons, managed to release himself from his own pants and carefully positioned himself over her, between her legs. As she started to fall apart on him again, he entered her. She was so aroused, so ready for him that he easily pushed through the fragile membrane and sheathed himself to the hilt. But it was quite a snug fit. He could feel her complete her own response, spasming around him. She cried out, surprised, startled at her body's passionate reaction. He allowed the tremors to subside and, with more effort than he had ever put into any action before in his life, he held himself still, allowing her to adjust to him, to the intrusion, to the unfamiliar feeling of having a man inside of her.

"Is it over?" she managed to ask, her eyes fluttering open. "I can feel you." Her face was scrunched up, "I don't know that I like this part. Is it over?"

"Not quite yet, my sweet. I need to relieve myself, find my own release. Are you all right?"

She nodded, quickly. "I'm all right. What do you need to do?" she asked him her eyes locking with his, a hint of fear deep within the depths of blue.

_She was not all right. But she trusted him._

"Move in you," he answered her, perhaps a bit jaggedly, and he began to stroke and thrust into her, reaching between them and gently teasing her clit so that soon enough the delicate walls of her passage were again clenching his cock and he could feel her coming for him yet one more time. He could no longer hold himself back, letting himself go, belatedly realizing that he had not used any protection.

_But it was so glorious!_

The best he'd ever experienced! This was a woman he could fall in love with. This was the woman he had fallen in love with. This was the woman he wanted to live the rest of his life with. Have babies with.

"Is it over now?" she asked him breathlessly, after a moment.

"Yes my darling. It's over now," He didn't pull out of her, reluctant to leave her warmth, to take himself away from her soft yielding body.

She was silent a moment. "That wasn't so bad. Not bad at all. Can we do it again?"

He almost laughed but stopped himself. "We can, but it will take me awhile before I can be ready again."_ But probably not that long._

"It was wonderful. Is it always that special?" she asked him, touching his shoulder with her fingertips as if she was trying to memorize him by touch. _She liked how he smelled, too._

"No," he answered truthfully. "What we just had was. . . remarkable."

She snuggled up to him. He barely heard her whisper. "I'm glad it was you. So glad it was you."

0000000000

Nick had gotten up when Belle had dozed off and, getting a warm wet wash cloth, he had gently bathed her thighs, cleansing off the blood that proclaimed he had indeed been her first. She had stirred but not awakened. He had finished undressing himself and then had gotten into bed with her. He had held her closely the rest of the night, listening to her gentle, even breathing, resisting the urges of his own body to penetrate her again, giving her time to heal.

It was very early in the morning before he finally dozed off. When he awoke he reached for her. He was definitely ready and interested in renewing relations with his sweet little morsel, but there was now only an indentation in the bed. Sunlight was streaming through the window around the curtains. He heard noises coming from his tiny apartment kitchen. Kitcheny clanking sounds. And she was humming_ As Time Goes By_. He smelled coffee.

He redressed himself and stumbled out of the bedroom. Belle was still in her miraculous corset but had found one of his shirts to put on over herself. She had tried to tie it at the waist but it still gaped open, sometimes affording him a glance at her sweet, full and barely covered breasts. She had removed her stockings and she was now in his kitchen bare-legged and barefoot. A combination of innocent and erotic.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door and without any additional warning, Jefferson entered. He came in talking.

"Hey Boss, I brought you croissants. Just plain mind you. Can't get any_ chocolat_ ones anymore." Jefferson stopped, spotting Nick's company in her state of dishabille. It took him only a heartbeat to realize what had transpired. He had to smile to himself. _About time._

"Miss Belle," he said just as respectfully as if he had encountered her on the street. "Lovely to see you."

Belle had sensed that there was something between Nicholas and the piano player, something that transcended mere friendship. Jefferson was intensely loyal to the man and Nicholas seemed to trust Jefferson while he was so suspicious of everyone else.

"You too, Jefferson," she graced him with her slight smile.

"I'm here for breakfast. You'll be delighted to know that I have a dozen of these croissants, so there will be plenty to go around." Jefferson glanced at Nick who had just managed to make his own way into the kitchen and was somehow managing to keep his face passive.

"I'll make you some coffee," Belle told Jefferson.

"Please, coffee is the only indulgence I have left to me," Jefferson thanked her.

"Besides the ladies," Nick noted quietly.

Belle was still smiling as she got another cup and poured Jefferson a round of coffee.

"I am surprised we can still get coffee," she observed.

"Oh, I have some contacts in north Africa," Nick shared. "I'm getting coffee and a variety of spices from them. We're trading off the spices right now, but the coffee I keep. It's a regular pleasure."

"That's why I'm here," confessed Jefferson. He was watching Belle closely as she maneuvered around the tiny kitchen.

"Aubade's?" Jefferson asked her suddenly.

Belle dropped her eyes and smiled shyly. "Yes. You are familiar with the shop?"

"Quite," commented Jefferson. "Looks to me that you're wearing the white lace number from the wedding collection. That's one you have to help to get in and out of."

Belle was fascinated by the man's esoteric knowledge. "How do you know this?"

"I frequent the shop. Not for myself you understand, but I accompany young women there and help them make an appropriate selection."

Nick was fascinated himself. "Really. I didn't know that about you."

"Don't know everything about me, Boss. The ladies seem to really like the store. Not something they would often bother to buy for themselves. But when they let me buy them something. . ." he grinned, "well, I get to see them in it," he gave a quick laugh, "and then I get to see them out of it."

"Understood," commented Belle, dryly.

"Now you would look lovely in their little white and blue satin number. . . and they have a yellow-gold one, very unusual, but I think you could carry it off. Very sophisticated, simple, elegant. Not every woman could manage it. But you. . . "

Nick intervened. "Are you talking to my mistress about her undergarments?"

"Absolutely," agreed Jefferson. "You don't have the _élan_ necessary to. You'd let this beautiful little thing waste away in white cotton drawers and a steel-girded brassiere."

"Probably," Nick responded.

"I'm your mistress?" Belle asked archly.

Nick looked at her closely. "You are, my dear. This is Paris. This type of thing is commonplace."

She looked him over slowly and reached for his arm, running her hand up his arm. "I'm very new at this. Now exactly what does that position require?"

He smiled at her very slowly. Without looking at his friend, Nick asked him, "Jefferson, don't you have someplace you need to be?"

"Not really," Jefferson responded. "And I'll be on my way there. Leaving right now." He grabbed his coffee and a couple of croissants and promptly made his way out.

000000000000

It was late afternoon. Nick and Belle had finally made it out of his apartment and were having a light, late lunch in his café. Nick was amazed at this woman whose company he'd been graced with. She had been incredibly responsive and he had rapidly introduced her to a variety of activities, including, eventually, taking her out of that fantastic corset. Her enthusiasm had kept his own energies up but he admitted he was struggling to keep up with her. _Not as young as he used to be. . . perhaps. . . but more experienced. _

She was still flushed with the afterglow of their last rendezvous. For this most recent time, he had put her on top, allowing her to ride him which gave him a tantalizing view of her lovely full breasts as they bounced up and down, the rosebud tips peaking, hardening, aching under his insistent touch. Before he was finished, she had graciously screamed his name a couple of times and finally collapsed, nearly fainting on top of him.

Tonight he planned to take further advantage of her willingness to indulge him. He kept looking at her perfect bow of a mouth and realized he was not listening to her.

"I'm absolutely starved, Nicholas. I think I will want something else to eat," she was telling him.

He signaled to one of his waiters to bring her a second bowl of soup and baguette. He knew she was still talking but found himself drifting off again. He couldn't stop imagining how that delectable little mouth would look wrapped around his turgid member. He'd put her on her knees after having her strip for him. He had found that he enjoyed having her remove her clothes for him; it gave him a sense of power and control and he, as he would certainly admit, enjoyed power and control. He might have to coax her to have her pull his cock out of his pants. He'd first have her suck on the tip before trying to take his length down her throat.

In all fairness, he was planning to reciprocate. . . several times.

"The weather was so pretty today, we should have planned a picnic," she was saying. She looked at him. "Nicholas, are you listening to me?"

He realized she had been talking for a while. "Absolutely," he desperately thought back to the few words that had penetrated his consciousness. "Pretty weather. Picnic."

She just looked at him and shook her head, giving him the shy half-smile that she would grace him with when she was actually put out with him.

"I'm sorry darling. I was thinking about you and some designs that I have on your body," he confessed.

Upon hearing this, she blushed for him. He knew now that the blush went over her entire body. So now, he was thinking about laying that tasty little body on her back, kitty-corner on his bed, and putting her legs over his shoulders. That should put him in the right position for a leisurely session. She only took about ten minutes for him to move her to orgasm. He was wondering how many times he could have her come for him in, say, an hour. He hoped he wasn't moving too fast. _But she was so responsive. _

It was an ordinary newspaper carrier coming by, hawking his wares, which broke his reverie. Nick, signaling him over, bought a paper. He and Belle looked the paper over together. They were not reading good news.

An official looking vehicle with a loudspeaker on top rolled by blasting a message.

Belle translated and told him, "The Germans are getting closer to Paris."

Nick understood. "Nothing will stop them now. They'll be here Wednesday, Thursday at the latest."

Belle was worried, "Nicholas, they'll find out your record. It won't be safe for you here."

"I do seem to be on their list of honor," he agreed.

"Oh, Nicholas, I'll go anyplace with you. We'll get on a train together and never stop. I love you so much. I don't want anything to happen to you."

_She had just told him she loved him. _

_Told him, Nicholas Gold, that she loved him. _

_Him, a difficult man to love._

_Oh Belle, I love you too._

_And what a coward he was that he couldn't say it back to her._

000000000000

The following day, Belle had left early in the morning to get some things together from her hotel room. She had promised to meet up with Nick at the café and make plans with him for leaving Paris right away.

_La Belle Aurore_. Nick's small café in the Montmartre. It was noon and Belle had come back to him from her hotel room as promised, but she seemed distracted, worried.

"Here Belle," Nick poured her a glass of champagne, not noticing her change of mood. "We need to finish up this one and one more. I'd rather water my garden with this than have the Germans get to drink the good champagne."

Jefferson was getting some sheet music together and waved Nick off. "Sorry, Boss. I can't help you out," he gestured to the champagne. "I'm gathering up my own things and then I'll be able to help you get your things together. It sounds like Madame Cora was happy to get this place so, even selling it at a crunch, we're still getting our ahead."

They all turned when they heard another loudspeaker coming from a street vehicle.

Nick shook his head. "My German is a little rusty," he admitted.

"It's the Gestapo," translated Belle. "They say they expect to be in Paris tomorrow. They are telling us how to act when they come marching in." She turned to Nick and gave him a quick hug. "With the whole world crumbling around us, why did we pick this time to fall in love?"

"It is pretty bad timing. What were you doing, say, ten years ago?"

"Ten years ago? Oh I was getting braces put on my teeth," Belle answered. "You?"

"Ten years ago? I was looking for a way out. I'd hit rock bottom and was rethinking the direction my life was going."

"Oh Nicholas," Belle went over to him and he immediately took her in his arms and began to kiss her. In the background there were the sounds of canons booming. Belle jumped at the sounds.

Nick looked up. "That's the new German 77. Judging by the sound only about thirty-five miles away."

There was another boom.

"And getting closer every minute. We'll never finish up this champagne in time. I guess it's for the garden."

"Hey Boss," Jefferson spoke up. "They're gonna come looking for you. There's a price on your head."

"I left a note upstairs in the apartment. They'll know where to find me."

Belle was shaking her head. "I seem to actually know so very little about you."

"Well, I don't know a lot about you either, except that you had your teeth straightened."

"Be serious darling. You are in great danger and you must leave Paris right away."

"No, no, no, no," he corrected her. "_We_ must leave Paris right away."

Belle still seemed distracted. "Why yes, of course. _We_ must leave right away."

Jefferson interjected. "The last train for Marseille leaves at five o'clock."

"I will pick you up, four thirty at your hotel," Nick promised her.

"At the hotel?" she seemed suddenly alarmed. "Oh, no darling. I have things I have to do. I will meet you at the train station."

"At a quarter 'til five." He kissed her. "Say why don't we get married in Marseille?"

"Oh darling, let's see what's going on then, please," she responded, seeming uncomfortable with his sudden proposal.

"Well, that is a ways away," he agreed. "Hey, maybe we can get married on the train. Are train engineers like ships' captains?"

"Oh Nicholas," Belle turned away, so distressed, so worried.

"Are you crying? What's wrong?" She seemed so distraught, so upset. He had just tuned into her mood.

"Oh Nicholas, I love you so much and I hate this war so much. It's such a crazy mixed-up world. Anything can happen. If you shouldn't get away. If you shouldn't get away. I mean if something should keep us apart, wherever they put you and wherever I'll be, I want you to know, I love you." Tear fill her eyes. He held her closely and lifted her face to his, "Kiss me, Nicholas. Kiss me as if it's the last time."

000000000

It was raining very hard at the train station. It was crowded, packed with increasingly desperate people, slogging, moving through the rain with their limited allotment of luggage. There was a hectic, fevered, almost panicked excitement. This was to be the last train from Paris.

Nick was in the crowd. He had stopped and put his suitcase down. He glanced at his watch. _Where was she?_

The conductor called out, "All aboard. Last train is leaving in three minutes."

The rain was pouring over Nick's head and shoulders but he didn't seem to notice. He nervously checked his watch again, scanning the crowds of people. _Where was she_?

Suddenly Jefferson, out of breath, ran up.

Nick asked him, "Where is she? Have you seen her?"

"No, Boss. I couldn't find her," Jefferson answered. "She's checked out of her room. This note came for you, just after you left." Jefferson pulled an envelope out of his pocket. Nick grabbed for it, opened it and stared down at the letter.

_Nicholas, I cannot go with you or ever see you again. You must not ask why. Just believe that I love you. Go my darling and God bless you, With all my love, Belle."_

Rain poured down on the letter, smudging the writing so that the ink ran like tears down the page.

Maybe there were tears on the page.

A whistle blew.

Jefferson frantically grabbed Nick and pulled him on board the train. "That's the last call, Boss. Come on. We've got to go. Let's get out of here."

Jefferson shoved a stunned Nick onto the train and slowly the train pulled out of the station.

Nick held onto the letter, slowly crumbling it in his hand and, finally, putting it into his pocket.

00000000000

Back at the café in Casa d'Ora, a very drunk Nick reached for a glass and, mis-judging, knocked the glass over. Jefferson helped pick up the glass.

A figure was silhouetted in the doorway.

Nick saw her.

It was Belle.

She lingered, hesitating a moment in the doorway, but then, tentatively, came into the room.

"Nicholas," she began. "I have to talk to you." She was very hesitant, but quietly determined.

"Oh," replied Nick, obviously very drunk. He gestured to the table. "I saved my first drink to have with you. Here," he tried to pour her a drink but was not able to line up the bottle and the glass.

"No, no, Nicholas, not tonight," she tells him, noting his state.

Nick looked right into her bright eyes. His tone was hard, "Especially tonight."

Belle sat in front of him, moving the glass and bottle out of her way. She looked at him, searching his face. Nick retrieved the bottle and poured himself yet another drink in his own glass.

"Please, Nicholas," Belle began.

"Why did you have to come to Casa d'Ora?" he asked her. "There are so many other places. You could have gone anywhere else."

"I would not have come here if I had known you were here. Believe me Nicholas, it's true. I didn't know."

"It's funny, you know. Your voice hasn't changed. I can still hear you. 'Nicholas, I'll go anyplace with you. We'll get on a train together and never stop. Oh, Nicholas, I love you so much'."

"Please Nicholas, don't. Don't. I can understand how you feel."

"Oh, you understand how I feel?" Nick was furious. "How long was it we had together?"

"I didn't count the days."

"Well, I did. Every damn one of them. Mostly I remember the last one. The big finish. A guy standing on a railroad platform in the rain with a funny look on his face because his insides had just been kicked out."

He took another drink.

"Can I tell you a story, Nicholas?"

"Does it 'ave a big finish?" he slurred his speech, the Scottish brogue coming through.

"I don't know the finish yet," she was trying to get his attention, trying to explain.

"Well go on, tell it. Maybe one will come to you as you go along." He downed the liquor.

"It's about a poor, young girl who had just come to Paris from her family home in Australia. At the house of some friends, she met a man about whom she'd heard her whole life, a very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge, of thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshipped him with a feeling she supposed was love."

Nick was having trouble forming words, "Well, now that's a very pretty story. Tell me, Belle, who did you leave me for? Was it LeGume. . . or were there others in between?" He paused, sneering at her, "Or aren't you the kind who tells?"

Rebuffed and stung, Belle closed her eyes for a moment and then got up. Nick's head dropped to the table.

"I'll take care of him Belle. You go away." Jefferson told her.

**A.N. Now, this is important. I am struggling with how inept/objectionable to make Gaston. Do I just go a "1" and make him a douche, or a "2" and make him a douche and jerk or do I go all out and make him a "3," a complete *sshole. Let me know if you have any opinion. Thx txm **

_NEXT: Gaston is threatened_

_Emma is threatened_

_Nick sobers up_

**Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers: Guest, ****juju0268****, Row (Guest), The Prince's Phoenix, .714, Julie Winchester, Leafena, RainMirror, ****RentFan27****, ****and tigger64**

**And**

**For reviewer-me (Guest): Inside the ring was the Lorraine Cross. This was a common symbol of the Free French and was used by the underground to identify each other – I think this chapter answered your other questions****. **

**And**

**Hermitess: The movie was actually written as they went along, with scripts often being handed to the actors right before shooting; the movie was pretty much shot sequentially. The original intent was for Bergman to throw over her husband and go off with Bogey, but they realized that just couldn't fly and made the change to create the classic that they did (of course, I have no pretense that I'm writing a classic and will go with what sells). And I did agonize over Neal's name (Neal works fine, but Cassady, well, not so good – I managed the Spencer/Spender shift but just couldn't come up with a good parallel so I just said, "What the heck," and let it ride.) Cassady does have another **_**nom de voyage**_** but that won't come out until the last chapter. txm**

**And**

**Spirit Watch – your review has actually helped me in the next chapter to expand on the characters' feelings and mental state. Even with a story this tightly constructed, I'm surprised (and pleased) to find that reviews can help drive the nuances and direction I'm moving things. **

**Thank you all and all those of you who are reading (without reviewing – I appreciate you too). txm **


	5. Spender's Dilemma

Chapter 5 Spender's Dilemma

It was just before 10:30 in the morning in Capitaine Swan's office. Gaston LeGume and Mademoiselle Belle French had an appointment with Major George Spender of the Third Reich in the office of the Prefect de Police.

Spender was sitting while Swan attended to some of her never-ending paperwork. Neal stood behind his commanding officer. Emma had brought his jacket into her office and left it where he could surreptitiously retrieve it. Spender had been oblivious to the exchange.

Emma didn't speak to Neal. Emma didn't look at Neal. Emma wouldn't look at Neal.

Spender had spent the morning working himself up into a temper. "I strongly suspect that Smee left those letters of transit with Mr. Nick. I would suggest you search his place immediately and thoroughly," he spoke up.

"If Nicky has the letters, he's much too smart to let you find them in his place," Emma wearily tried to explain. They had been over this before.

"How well do you know this man, Capitaine Swan? You seem very familiar with him." Spender suddenly asked her, suspicious of what her history with the man might be.

She glared at him. "I haven't slept with him, if that's what you're asking," she risked a glance at Neal. "Gold typically keeps a harem of at least five women, so I doubt he would have interest or energy for me."

"Those beautiful women in his café?" Spender was intrigued. "He keeps company with all of them?"

Emma shrugged. "Singly or in groups. So go the rumors. I certainly don't know for certain. Not really interested in that type of thing, at least not with Monsieur Gold."

Spender was also not interested. "You give him credit for too much cleverness. My impression is that he is just another blundering American."

"Well, we mustn't underestimate American blundering. What was it, 1918, when they blundered into Berlin?" Emma couldn't resist the shot.

Spender was not pleased with this response and changed the subject. "As to LeGume, we want him watched twenty-four hours a day."

"We're on top of that. I just got a report that he is on his way here at this very moment," Swan reassured him.

And so they were. Ilsabelle and Gaston had just entered the police station and were making their way through the crowded police station. They passed Katy with her tall blond young man talking with an officer.

"No, there is nothing we can do," the officer was telling them.

Gaston and Ilsabelle entered Swan's office.

Emma stood, "I'm delighted to see you both. Did you have a good night's rest?"

Gaston responded, "I slept very well, thank you," he managed a smile for the pretty police officer.

"That's strange. Nobody is supposed to sleep well in Casa d'Ora." Emma observed. She was looking at Ilsabelle, whom she thought seemed subdued.

"Can we get down to business?" Spender asked impatiently.

_Uncouth lout. _"With pleasure, please sit down," Emma directed them both and sat down herself.

Ilsabelle thanked Emma.

"Very well," began Spender. "Herr LeGume. Let us not mince words. You are an escaped prisoner of the Reich. So far you have been fortunate enough to elude us. You have reached Casa d'Ora. It is my duty to see that you stay in Casa d'Ora."

"Whether or not you succeed is, of course, problematical," Gaston responded, not intimidated by the German officer.

"Not at all, Capitaine Swan's signature is necessary on every exit visa," Spender turned to Emma. "Capitaine, do you think that it possible that Herr LeGume will receive a visa?"

Emma grimaced, "I'm afraid not. My regrets."

"Well, perhaps I shall like it in Casa d'Ora," Gaston was philosophical.

"And mademoiselle?" Spender turned his attention to Ilsabelle.

"You needn't be concerned about me," Ilsabelle told him.

"Is this all that you wished to tell us?" Gaston asked them, already ready for the interview to be over.

"Don't be in such a hurry," Spender told him. "You have all the time in the world. You may be in Casa d'Ora indefinitely," he paused, "or you may leave for Lisbon tomorrow. On one condition,"

Gaston was suspicious. "And that would be?"

"You know the leaders of the underground movement in Paris, in Prague, in Brussels, in Amsterdam, in Oslo, in Belgrade, in Athens."

"Even in Berlin," Gaston informed him.

Spender was slightly stung but recovered. He nodded, "Even in Berlin," he acknowledged. "If you will furnish me with their names and their exact whereabouts, you will have your visa in the morning."

"And the honor of having served the Third Reich," Emma added lightly.

"I was recently in the employ of the Third Reich in a German concentration camp for a year. That's honor enough for a lifetime."

"You will give us the names?" Spender asked.

"If I didn't give you the names in the concentration camp, where you had more. . . persuasive methods at your disposal, I certainly won't give them to you now," Gaston answered. He had strong feelings about his calling and continued, "And what if you did track down these men and you killed them? What if you murdered all of us? I can promise you that from every corner of Europe, hundreds, even thousands, would rise up to take our places. Even Nazis can't kill that fast."

Spender was angered but controlled himself. "Herr LeGume, you have a reputation for eloquence which I can now understand. But in one respect you are mistaken. You said the enemies of the Reich could all be displaced, but there is one exception. No one could take your place in the event that anything unfortunate should occur to you while you were trying to escape."

"You don't dare to interfere with me here," Gaston told him. "This is still unoccupied France. Any violation of neutrality would reflect on Capitaine Swan."

"Monsieur, as far as it is within my power. . . "Emma responded with a Gallic shrug.

"Thank you," Gaston told her.

Emma moved on to more immediate matters. "Monsieur, last night you had an interest in Signor Smee?" Emma asked him.

"Yes," Gaston confirmed.

"I believe you had a message for him?" Emma again asked him a question.

"Nothing important, but may I speak with him now?" Gaston was trying not to appear too interested.

"You would find the conversation a trifle one-sided," Emma informed him. "Signor Smee is dead."

Gaston and Ilsabelle both, briefly, showed disappointment on their faces. Spender took note.

Swan held up some paperwork. "I'm filling out the report right now. Major Spender hasn't decided if Smee committed suicide or was shot trying to escape."

"Are you quite finished with us?" Gaston asked, more angry now than dejected.

Spender responded, "For the time being."

"Then good day," Gaston stood, held out his hand to Ilsabelle who took it and also stood. They left together.

As they departed, an officer came in to Swan's office. Swan remarked to Spender, "Undoubtedly their next step will be to go to the Black Market. That would be Mistress Regina."

The officer addressed Spender. "Excuse me sir, but a visa problem has come up."

Swan shook her head. She did not approve. "Let me know what you want me to do," she told Spender and stepped out of her own office. Neal followed her.

"Emma," he called after her.

"What do you want?" she was cold and distant. _The man still managed to look really good, even through the jaundiced eyes of experience, even in the Nazi uniform. Batard._

"I appreciate you returning my jacket. It would have been. . . awkward if I had been seen going back to your apartment to retrieve it."

"No problem," Emma responded, anxious to get away from the man. _He was blocking her way._

"It had something very valuable in it," he told her keeping eye contact with her.

"I'm sure it did," she answered neutrally. _Was he actually going to bring up the Gestapo warrant disc?_

"A pocket watch," he took out an antique gold watch from one of the inner pockets of the jacket. "Been in my family for some time. Irreplaceable."

"Uh hum," Emma replied. _So she had missed the pocket watch. Where was he going with this?_

"I'm sorry about last night," he closed his eyes a moment and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit. "I keep finding myself apologizing to you."

"Maybe you had better try to fix that," she told him acerbically. "We have nothing to say to each other." She turned to walk away from him. _Not a good idea to keep talking with the man. He was still too attractive for his own good, for her own good._

"Emma, I'm in a position to help you," he told her, speaking just loudly enough for her to hear him.

She stopped and turned around to look at him, "Help me? I wasn't aware that I needed help."

"There are people who are looking at your little set-up here with envious eyes. Your days here may be numbered," he said kindly.

"So what? I always knew that this wouldn't last. Nothing lasts." Emma was practical, even fatalistic, about the realities of life in Casa d'Ora.

"I can help you. I work for some . . . people and can give them a favorable report on you."

She looked at him a moment. _This was a lot like dealing with Nicky. Tricky, clever, deceitful. Be careful._ "In exchange for?" she asked him.

"Forgiveness."

Emma snorted and started to turn away.

"How about tolerance?" he asked her.

She just glared at him and again started to move away.

"Then nothing. I would ask for nothing from you," he told her.

_Yeah, right. _"But you would hope I would think more kindly of you, am I right?"

Neal pulled back. "I might hope for that. But I will ask for nothing." He smiled gently at her and, this time, he was the one to turn to go, to leave her watching him leave the police station.

_What the hell had that been about?_

-0o0-

Neal felt that he might have made some headway with his dear, sweet Emma. _Certainly she had never been the most docile creature, but, well, he liked that about her. _Maybe, just maybe, there had been a little progress. She had become an unexpected, and major, complication for him and his mission.

Nicholas Gold, now there was his true target. Different from the others Neal had gone after. And a very difficult customer for sure. Not interested in selling out. Neal had been able to ascertain that. And likely not at all interested in re-entering the game at all, but, still, maybe, maybe he would be willing to offer some of his contacts. He could be very useful. If Neal could get any sort of deal going with the man, the Twenty Committee would be pleased, very pleased.

-0o0-

This was a cluttered street of bazaars, shops and stalls. All kinds of people, all races milled about, examining the merchandise the shop owners had on display. Everyone was dressed in tropical clothes. The umbrellas and canopies over the shops gave people some protection from the scorching sun.

LeGume was talking with a native.

"I'm sorry sir. This is a serious problem and would involve handling the police. This would be a job for Mistress Regina," the man was telling him.

"Mistress Regina?"

"She can be very helpful in this type of situation. You will find her at The Red Heart." The native described the cafe, a simple white building emblazoned with a large red heart, and gave LeGume directions.

-0o0-

Katy and her young man were coming out of Regina's building and they looked disappointed. "So sorry, my dears," Regina, dressed in her customary black, was behind them. "Perhaps you can yet come to terms with Major Spender and Capitaine Swan. Perhaps Mr. Nick would lend you the additional money."

"We could ask him, Katy," the young man began.

"He's already given me too much, Frederic. I wouldn't feel right asking for this much money."

Nick was in a corner of the market and had remained concealed watching his pretty cashier and the young man walk away. Nick was feeling marginal. Jefferson had spent the better part of the night before and this morning pouring fluids into him. Then there were a couple of hangover cures that Jefferson had prepped and insisted he swallow. He had complied, knowing that likely Jefferson knew more about this than anyone else around. After last night's binge, he should've had a major hangover but apparently Jefferson's treatment had had some impact.

He still felt like crap. He had vague memories of Belle coming into to see him and him being less than gallant.

Watching the young man with Katy, Nick recognized him. This was the same fellow he had seen Katy with on several earlier occasions. They seemed to be very close. Once they had rounded the corner, Nick continued toward Regina, who had already seen him and was waiting.

She greeted him in her usual manner, by kissing him directly on the mouth. "Nick, darling,"

He was never sure if she genuinely liked him or was just trying to use him; he suspected the latter. She certainly didn't need his attentions to satisfy her appetites, although there had been a time. A long time ago. After his wife. Before Belle.

"I see the bus came in, Gigi. I'll go ahead and pay and take my shipment with me, if you please," he told her.

"No hurry. I'll have it sent over. Stay, have a drink with me," she wrapped an arm around him and pulled her body in close to his.

"Oh, please, I try not to drink in the morning." _Especially after tying one on the night before._ "And every time you send my shipment over, it's always just a little short."

"Carrying charges darling, carrying charges," she pulled him on into her club. "Here, sit down, there is something I want to talk over with you."

Her place was dark, really dark. There was something faintly distasteful, something unsavory about it. Nick sat down but watched the beautiful woman closely. She signaled a waiter who was dressed in black leather pants, black boots, a bow tie and nothing else. "Bourbon, Graham," she told him. She turned to Nick. "The news about Smee upset me so much." She poked her lower lip out to affect a pout.

He couldn't help but smirk. "Oh you are such a hypocrite. You don't feel any sorrier for Smee than I do," he told her.

She smiled at him. "Of course not. What upsets me is that Smee is dead and nobody knows where those letters of transit are."

Nick just smiled back at her. _He knew where she was going with this._

"If I could lay my hands on those letters, I could make a fortune," she told him.

"So could I and I'm a poor businessman," Nick replied to her.

"I have a proposition for whoever has those letters. I would be willing to handle the entire transaction, get rid of the letters, take all the risks, for a small percentage."

"And some carrying charges?"

She laughed a throaty laugh. "Naturally there would be incidental expenses. That is the proposition I have for whoever has those letters."

"I'll tell him if I find out who it is," he promised her.

"Nick, I'll put my cards on the table," Regina leaned forward to give him a better view of her generous cleavage. "I think you know where those letters are." He thought her perfume was cloying.

"Well, you're in good company. Spender and Swan think so too. That's why I came over here. To give them a chance to ransack my place."

"Nick, let me help you with this. It's more along the lines of what I do. Take me into your confidence. You _need_ a partner."

Nick shook his head and rose, "I _need_ to be getting back." As he left the club he passed Gaston LeGume coming in. He nodded and greeted him. "LeGume."

"Good morning," LeGume returned the greeting.

Nick stopped and pointed to Regina, "Mistress Regina is the black-clad dominatrix sitting at that table." He continued on outside, scanning the bazaar for Belle. His eyes were immediately drawn to her. Always, as ever, she was simply dressed yet managed to look stunning. She was at a linen stall, idly examining some of the wares. She had picked up a beautiful lace tablecloth, priced at 700 francs.

_She knew he was there. Whether she had heard his distinct gait, caught his voice as he left The Red Heart or whether she just had smelled his unique scent. What was it that she had decided he smelled like? vanilla, cardamom and sandalwood, all at once spicy and warm and so, so inviting. She knew he was there. Her whole body tingled._

"You will not find a treasure like this in all Morocco, mademoiselle. Only 700 francs," the vendor was trying hard to make a sell.

"You're being cheated," she heard him. He was standing close to her, very close. She could tell without looking.

_She wanted to turn to him. And do what? slap him across the face? spit in his eye for how he had talked to her last night? Or throw herself into his arms and beg him to take her right then and there on the vendor's table because she was still crazy in love with the man?_

Belle managed to turn to look at him, her face impassive, her tone politely formal. She nodded and turned back to the vendor.

_Yes, yes, she had managed that well. She hadn't been spiteful or mean – like he had been with her. She hadn't caved and thrown herself at his feet. She had done well._

_Then why did it hurt so much?_

"Ah, the lady is a friend of Nick's. For friends of Nick's, we have a small discount. Did I say 700 francs? You can have it for 200 francs," the vendor was a fast talker, fluent in English.

"I'm sorry I was in no condition to receive you when you called on me last night," he apologized.

"It doesn't matter," she moved away from him.

_She needed to get away from him before she did something, said something, she would regret. _

The vendor continued, "For special friends of Nick's we have a special discount. 100 francs."

"Your story had me a little confused. Or maybe it was the whiskey," he was still trying to engage her.

_Oh god, he was still there. Still persisting. He looked bad, tired, stressed. She knew she was the cause of much of his current grief. _

_She had never meant to hurt him. _

_Not him._

_Never him._

The vendor continued, "I have some tablecloths, some napkins. . . "

Belle smiled graciously at the vendor. "Thank you, but I'm really not interested."

_Maybe she should move away from him. Go and join Gaston. Yes that would do it. Get away from Nicholas._

But Nick had moved in closer to her. "Why did you come to see me last night? To tell me why you ran out on me at the railway station?"

Belle replied, stiffly, "Yes." _To apologize, to tell you everything, to beg your forgiveness._

"Well, you can tell me now. I'm reasonably sober."

"I don't think I will, Nicholas." _She couldn't, just couldn't. Not right now. _

"Why not? After all I got stuck with a railway ticket. I think I'm entitled to know something."

_She pulled herself together. She had to tell the man something. She did own him something._

She spoke slowly and clearly, "Last night, I saw what has happened to you. The Nicholas I knew in Paris, I could tell him. He'd understand. But the Nick who looked at me with such hatred. . . well, I'll be leaving Casa d'Ora soon and we'll never have to see each other again. We knew very little about each other when we were in love in Paris. If we leave it that way, maybe we'll remember those days and not Casa d'Ora, not last night."

_A pretty speech, very pretty. Now, maybe, he would let her go._

"Did you run out on me because you couldn't take it? Because you knew what it would be like, hiding from the police, running away all the time?"

_Please, please, let me go Nicholas._

"You can believe that if you like," Belle was able to tell him, politely and calmly.

"Well, I'm not running away any more. I'm settled now. It's above a saloon, it's true. But walk up a flight. I'll be expecting you."

Belle shook her head. _This had to stop. It had to end. She couldn't stand it._

Nick grabbed her arm and pulled her close. _All the old feelings welled up. How he could make her feel. What he could do to her body. How badly she had missed him._

"You'll come," he told her. "Someday, you'll lie to LeGume. And you'll come." He could feel the stiffness in her body. He caught the flash of anger in her eyes. But he also could smell the delicate rose scent she always had. And there was an inviting softness to her body. He wanted to push her up against a wall or drag her behind one of the vendor tents. . . or take her into The Red Heart and strap her onto one of Regina's devices to have his way with her just one more time, or two more times or over and over for the rest of the day. She had hurt him, but he could not deny he still desired her. And, he thought, she still desired him. He had been her first. That should mean something to her.

_But it hadn't meant anything to Milah, his wife. Maybe it didn't mean anything to Belle. Maybe he had just been a convenience, a way of wiling away time until something better to do came along. _

_Arrogant son of a bi. . . _"No, Nicholas," Belle managed to pull away from him. "No, you see Gaston LeGume is my husband. . . and was, even when I knew you in Paris."

She walked away. _How could she have told him this? It was the truth but it had come out harshly. She couldn't tell him that she still loved him, had never stopped loving him, Never stopped wanting to be with him. She couldn't, wouldn't allow herself to look at him._

Nick was astonished. "What the fu. . . ? How is that possible?" he asked himself as he watched her walk away. Nick was trying to do the math, here. If Gaston had been her husband in Paris, how had she still been a virgin? And she had definitely been a virgin. Had they been separated immediately after the wedding? Did Gaston have some type of injury?

Nick had a vaguely foggy memory of Jefferson telling him that Gaston was a homosexual. He had discounted it at the time, but now he wondered if Belle was Gaston's cover. Being the political creature that Gaston was, it probably wouldn't go well for him if people suspected he was, well, 'different.' Nick himself could give a rat's ass about what another man liked in bed, as long as things were occurring between consenting adults. He'd lived long enough to know that wasn't how you measured a man's worth. Perhaps Gaston had acquired Belle to help him appear like a regular guy. Maybe Gaston wasn't capable of performing with a woman._ So why was Belle sticking with Gaston? Was he just so much less desirable than Gaston? Was he such a monster that she would prefer a cold, sexless marriage to him? Was he so unworthy?_

-0o0-

Belle calmed herself before she went on into The Red Heart. She didn't want Gaston to see her in a state. She saw him sitting very, very close to an absolutely gorgeous woman. Belle went over to join him. If the other woman had been any closer to the man, she would have been in his lap.

As she came up to their table, Regina looked Belle over, assessing her.

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest little morsel. If you ever need any money, Gaston, I can assure you that she would be able to pull down a couple hundred francs a night working in this place."

Belle was intuitively repulsed by the comment and the woman's manner. She sat down across the table from her.

Regina continued, almost purring her comments,"I was just telling Monsieur LeGume, my dear, that I cannot help him."

"Oh no!" this was not what Belle had expected to hear.

Gaston explained. "Apparently word has gotten around."

"As leader of all black market activities here in Casa d'Ora, I am a respected and influential woman. But it would be worth my life to try to do something for Gaston LeGume. You, however, are a different manner."

"Mistress Regina thinks that it might be possible to get an exit visa just for you," Gaston clarified.

"You mean for me to go on alone?" Belle asked.

"And only alone," confirmed Regina.

"I will stay here and keep on trying. I'm sure, in a little while. . ," Gaston tried to re-assure her.

"Let us be frank, monsieur," Regina interrupted. "It will take a miracle to get you out of Casa d'Ora and the Germans have outlawed miracles."

Belle turned to Regina. "We are only interested in two visas."

"Please, Ilsa, don't be hasty," Gaston pleaded with her.

"No, Gaston, no."

"You two will want to discuss this, "Regina realized that the couple needed privacy. "I have some club business to attend to. The bartender will know where I am." She told them and excused herself, slinking away like a sultry, big, black cat.

"Oh Ilsa," Gaston pleaded with her. "I don't want you to stay here. I want you to get to America. It would not look well if you stayed here with me and something happened to you and there had been a chance for you to have left."

"Gaston, if the situation were different. If I had to stay and there was only a visa for one, would you take it?"

Gaston hesitated and finally stumbled out, unconvincingly, "Yes, yes, I would."

Belle just smiled at him. "Yes, I see. When I was in Lille, why didn't you leave me there? And when I was sick in Marseille and held you up for two weeks, and you were in danger every minute of the time, why didn't you leave me then?"

"I meant to, but something always held me up. I can't abandon you. How would it look?"

"I see." She nodded. _Not because he loved her and wanted her to be safe. It was all about how it might look. What other people might think. _She told him, "Miss Regina is waiting for our answer."

Gaston kissed her lightly on the forehead. _His kiss was like all his kisses, cool and chaste. Not hot and searing like Nicholas's. Gaston had never kissed her anywhere except the forehead or the cheek or the hand. He had never kissed her on the mouth or kissed her breasts or spent an hour using his mouth and tongue on the sensitive area between her legs, making her beg and scream. Gaston seemed to kiss her only in public where his efforts would be perceived as the doting spouse offering comfort. Nicholas's kisses had been sensual and demanding, and more suitable to happening behind a closed door than in public. _

They went and found Regina at the bar. "We've decided. For the present we'll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you so much."

"Well good luck. And be careful, you know you're being shadowed?"

"Of course, after a while it becomes an instinct," Gaston responded confidently.

Regina hesitated, then added, "I am moved to make one more suggestion. Why, I do not know as it cannot possibly profit me, but have you heard about Signor Smee and the letters of transit?"

"Something about them, " Gaston was guarded.

"Those letters were not found on Smee when they arrested him."

"Do you know where they are?"

"Not for sure, but I would venture to guess that Smee left those letters with Mr. Nick."

Belle spoke up, "Nicholas?" _Oh god, not Nicholas! He had the letters!_

"He's a difficult man to deal with, that Mr. Nick. One never knows what he will do or why. But it may be worth the chance."

Gaston nodded. "Well thank you, thank you very much."

As they left The Red Heart, Gaston asked Ilsabelle, "This Mr. Nick. You said you had known him in Paris?"

"Somewhat," Belle tried to answer without committing herself. "He ran a little café in Montmartre that was near my hotel. I often went there for lunch." _and breakfast, and dinner and an exciting, exhilarating bed partner._

"He seems to have garnered quite a reputation here in Casa d'Ora. I don't understand how just a saloon keeper gets so much respect from everyone. I suspect he is collaborating with the Vichy and the Germans. He seems very close to that police captain."

"I wouldn't know," Belle managed to respond neutrally.

"I will have to check with my friends in the underground to see what they can tell me about him. If he is merely an opportunist, we should be able to buy the letters from him or find something he will trade them for."

Belle hesitated, "Oh, I don't know. He didn't strike me as that kind of person."

"You mean he might have principles? I doubt it. My impression is that he is just another blundering American. We should be able to manipulate him into handing those letters over. He'll have his price."

Belle did not reply. _He will, but will you want to pay it Gaston?_

-0o0-

Mr. Nick was sitting in his usual place, surveying the activity of the café. He seemed to have recovered but his staff was watching him closely. Each of the young women in his employ, except for Katy who was off that evening, had come by at one point or another to see if there was anything that he needed. Coffee, food, a neck rub, a friendly ear, anything, anything?

Katy was there in the restaurant flirting with her nice young man. She and the young man had come in together for an evening meal. They seemed very close but the young officer was managing to keep within bounds. This was the same young man Nick had seen with her earlier that day and had seen often standing near Katy's cashier booth while she worked.

At his request, Nolen had brought Nick a bottle. "Sir, you're getting to be one of your own best customers."

"Maybe. How's that new waitress working out?" Nick asked him.

Nolen hesitated and, at first, Nick thought that there might be a problem. "She's wonderful sir. She's very smart and very good with the customers. I've got her beginning to deal cards and she seems to be catching on very quickly. I just wanted you to know, well, I've been thinking about, well, I know it's ok with you, but I wanted to see her when she's not on the job. I won't turn her into another Ashley, I promise you."

"As long as it doesn't interfere with your jobs."

"Thank you sir. Thank you." Nolen seemed relieved.

As Nolen left, Nick lit a cigarette. Emma came in and surveyed Nick. He was obviously having a difficult time. Not quite as put together as he usually was. Actually, downright disheveled. She came over to him. "I'm so pleased to see this, Nicky. Drinking in the early evening. Smoking. Not quite as dapper as you usually are. Now you're beginning to live like a Frenchman."

"That was some going-over your men gave my place this afternoon," he complained. "We just barely got things cleaned up in time to open." Nick poured Emma a drink.

"I told Spender that he wouldn't find the letters here. But I told my men to be especially destructive. You know how that impresses Germans." Emma sat down by him and took a sip of the liquor. "Nicky," she made eye contact, "do you have those letters?"

He looked at her closely. "Emma, are you pro-Vichy or Free French?"

Emma laughed and sat back in her chair, "Serves me right for asking a direct question. The subject is closed."

Emma noted that Spender and some of his officers have come in. "Oh well, it's time for me to go and flatter Spender." She finished her drink and left Nick. "I'll see how close I can get to him while snubbing Neal."

_What was going on between Emma and the young German officer? What was his name? Neal? He seemed very familiar with Emma but she was going out of her way to avoid him. Nick suspected that there was some sort of history between the two. He had never seen Emma act this way around any other man, like a nervous little school girl. With him, as with other men, she was flirtatious and could be downright suggestive, although he had never known her to partake in a gentleman's company. If his life had been different, if he hadn't been so badly burned by his affair with Belle, he acknowledged that he might have made an overture toward the shapely Capitaine. But then, pursuing a woman carrying a gun and handcuffs, not exactly his brand of amusement._

-0o0-

Nick was playing a round of Solitaire. The game calmed him. It was neat and orderly in all the ways that his life wasn't neat and orderly at the moment. As he sat at his table, he heard a commotion in the restaurant. He sighed and, as he did often, he got up to investigate.

Coming into the restaurant he was quickly able to discern what had happened. From what he could hear, one of Spender's officers had tried to put his hand on petite and pretty Arrey's curvaceous behind. The red-head with her pure soprano singing voice was quite the stand out beauty. A French officer, Nick recognized him as a regular and usually a well-behaved young man, Eric somebody, had stopped the German officer. As Nick came on into the restaurant he could see and hear the two men arguing.

"Leave her alone," Eric was telling the German officer.

"What? She is just a waitress in a bar! I've heard the stories! All these women strip and whore for their boss!" the German officer was not complimentary.

"She's a lady! Mr. Nick only hires ladies! If you want a whore go over to Regina's place. Although I don't know if she would let any of her girls go with the likes of you," the French officer shouted at him.

"What do you mean by that?" the German officer was furious.

"I think you know. Or are you stupider than you look?" voices were being raised and attracting quite a bit of attention.

The German officer threw a punch. Nick walked up and, without hesitation, he separated the two men using his cane to connect with them. He had their attention (and caught Nolen and Jefferson out of the corner of his eye readying themselves to back him up). "I don't like disturbances in my place. If you can't conduct yourself without fighting, get out. If you can't leave my girls alone, get out," he told them keeping his voice low.

"Dirty boche," the French officer continued to fume, but backed off.

The German officer didn't say anything but he was obviously still furious.

Nick turned to Arry. He took her arm and raised her chin to look into his eyes. "Are you all right, Cherie?" he asked her. He didn't like his waitresses being manhandled.

Arry nodded, obviously upset that she had been responsible for the altercation. She smiled nervously.

"Let me know if you need a break," Nick told her gently.

"Thank you, Monsieur Nick," she told him and nodded again. Her eyes went to the young French officer and she smiled brightly at him. "Merci, monsieur," she told him. He slowly smiled back.

Spender who had seen the entire exchange turned to Swan. "You see, Capitaine. The situation is not as much under control as you believe."

"My dear Major, we are trying to cooperate with your government, but we cannot regulate the feelings of our people," Emma was prepared to wave off the entire incident. This type of altercation was not particularly uncommon and she felt that Spender was over-reacting.

Spender looked at Swan closely. "Capitaine Swan, are you entirely certain which side you are on?"

"I have no conviction if that's what you mean. I blow with the wind and right now, the prevailing wind is from Vichy."

"And if it should change?" he asked her.

"Now surely, the Reich doesn't admit that possibility?" she sidestepped the question.

"We are concerned about more than just Casa d'Ora. We know that every French province in Africa is honeycombed with traitors waiting for their chance, waiting for a leader."

Emma acted disinterested. "A leader, like LeGume?"

"Yes. I have been thinking. It is too dangerous if we let him go. It may be too dangerous if we let him stay."

Emma appeared thoughtful, "I see your dilemma."

She turned her attention away from Spender. The man was always finding something to complain about. As Emma surveyed the café, she saw a distraught Katy come out into the restaurant area.

Katy was looking for Nick and found him soon enough. He had yet to return to his usual spot at his worktable in the Gambling Room. Katy approached him hesitantly. "Monsieur Nick?"

She sounded desperate.

**Thank you, thank you to all those great reviewers: Guest (anonymous), ****juju0268****, tigger64, Hermitess (Guest), Grace5231973, Girlyemma96, Julie Winchester, RainMirror, Spirit Watch and Leafena. The consensus seems to let Gaston be between a 2 and 3 on the (1-2-3) obnoxious meter (imagine this – and I want to see your shocked faces – nobody, nobody likes Gaston!) **

**AND**

**A special thanks to Anonymous Nerd Girl who's comments and insights helped mold some of Gaston's prissier moments during this chapter. **

_NEXT: Nick has a moment at roulette_

_Gaston sings!_

_Emma closes shop_

_Belle makes her move (at last)_


	6. Best of Gaston Worst of Gaston

Chapter Six: The Best of Gaston, The Worst of Gaston.

_Nick has learned that his Belle is married to, has been married to, the great resistance leader, Gaston LeGume, even when she knew him in Paris. _

_Gaston and Belle haven't been able to buy exit visas and are running out of options _

_The rumor is that Nick has the letters of transit, which can be used as unchallengeable exit visas. _

Katy was desperately looking for Nick and found him still out in the restaurant having just resolved a customer conflict (actually he had just broken up a fight). Katy approached him hesitantly, nervously, "Monsieur Nick?"

"Katy? This is your night off. Why are you still here?"

"I needed to talk to you, sir."

He was surprised. The cool, pretty blond was one of his smarter employees but never a chatty one. He had always liked that about her.

He walked her back into the Gambling Room to his usual place at his work table. "Sit down," he invited her. "Have a drink?"

"No, thank you, sir." She didn't say anything but he could tell she was not happy to see him drinking so much.

_Deal with it. You work for me._

"Then do you mind if I do?"

"Of course not, sir."

_Good girl._

Katy paused, swallowed and finally asked. "Major Spender?"

"What about him?"

"Do you know what kind of man he is?"

"Like any other man, maybe more so."

"Do you think he's trustworthy?"

"Why are you asking me that?" He was rapidly growing suspicious of what had happened.

"I have to ask someone. You are the only one whose opinion I trust."

Nick sat back, looking at his beautiful blonde cashier. "Where's the young man you have been keeping company with?" he asked her.

She looked surprised. "Frederic? He's asked me to marry him."

"Where is he?" Nick repeated his question.

"Playing the roulette wheel, trying to win enough to buy us both exit visas. We want to leave Casa d'Ora, Mr. Nick. We don't want to raise our children in this place. We want to go to America."

"And Spender saw you trying to buy the visas at Swan's office?"

Katy dropped her eyes. "He knew we couldn't afford Swan's price, even though she gave us a discount. We tried the black market but of course we couldn't afford Mistress Regina's price either. Spender said he could help us. But we still don't have enough money."

"And he's still willing to help you?"

"Yes."

"And you want to know. . .?"

"Will he keep his word?"

"He's a German officer. He always has." Nick didn't sound completely sure of himself.

Katy was shaking her head, obviously very upset. "Mr. Nick, you are a man. If someone loved you very much, so that your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the whole world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her?"

Nick stared off into space. "I don't know. Nobody ever loved me that much."

"And if the man never knew," Katy was talking as much to herself as she was to him. "And if the woman kept this bad thing locked in her heart, that would be all right, wouldn't it?"

"Do you want my advice?" Nick asked her.

"Please, Mr. Nick," she did trust him.

"Plan to stay in Casa d'Ora."

"But if you only knew what it means to us to get to America," she protested.

"Well, everybody in Casa d'Ora has their problems. Maybe yours will work out. Excuse me." Abruptly Nick left her sitting by his desk.

"Thank you Mr. Nick. Thank you," she called out to him.

-ooo-000-ooo-

Nick was unnerved by Katy's dilemma. She was, after all, one of his girls and he didn't want anyone else touching her, unless it was something she wanted too. He took care of his girls. He prided himself on taking care of his girls. He walked through the café.

Nick found himself at the front of the restaurant and checking in with Nolan. As Nick was standing there, Gaston and Belle entered. "Good evening," he greeted them. _Now this was awkward. He met Belle's glance and she returned it. Cool as she could be. Well, he could play that game too._

"Good evening," Gaston greeted him. "We're back again."

_Well at least the woman's husband had not picked up on the tension between himself and his wife. Idiot. _

"I take that as a great compliment to Jefferson." Nick addressed Belle, "I suppose he reminds you of happier times in Paris." _Oh yes, he was being so gracious, so charming. No problems here._

Belle said quietly, "He does. Would it be possible to have a table near him?"

"And as far away from Major Spender as is possible," clarified LeGume.

Nick looked around, "Well, the geography may be a bit difficult to manage." He called Nolen over. "Nolen, table thirty for Monsiuer LeGume and Mademoiselle French."

"Of course sir. Please come this way," Nolen gestured for Gaston and Belle to follow him. Nick walked over to Jefferson and whispered something. Jefferson stopped what he was playing and began to play, "As Time Goes By." Jefferson shook his head. _How was the Boss managing this? It was like rubbing salt in an open, bleeding wound.__-_

ooo-000-ooo

In the Gambling Room, Frederic, Katy's young suitor, was trying to win at the roulette table. He was, of course, losing. He was sitting with only three chips left and seemed bewildered as to what to do next. As Nick came up, Ruby, attired in one of her tight red dresses, was leaning over and addressing Frederic. "Do you wish to place another bet, sir?"

Frederic looked at his chips and shook his head. "I. . . I guess not."

Nick came up behind him. "Have you tried twenty-two tonight?" He looked at Ruby, "I said twenty-two."

Frederic looked at Nick, then at his chips. He hesitated but put them on. . . twenty-two.

Nick looked at Ruby who nodded slightly. She spun the wheel.

Mary Margaret had seen the exchange and had stopped what she was doing to come over. Leroy who was, as ever, working the Gambling Room door was watching.

"A winner, Number Twenty-two is a winner," Ruby announced, glancing over at Nick.

Frederic reached for his earnings but Nick leaned into him. "Leave it there."

By now Jesse, who was managing the cashier's booth tonight, and Katy were also watching. Emma had also caught wind of the activity and was watching.

The wheel spun. Nobody said anything.

They were all watching.

And holding their breath.

Ruby announced, "Another winner, twenty-two, black."

"Take it. Cash it in and don't come back." Nick told Frederic.

As Frederic gathered his chips and went over to the cashier's booth, just re-opened by Jesse, Nick approached Ruby, "How are we doing tonight?"

"Well, a couple thousand francs down from where I thought we would be," she responded honestly.

Nick smiled slightly and headed towards the door. Katy was quick to catch up with him and with tears in her eyes she tried to talk to him, "Monsieur Nick. I never wanted. . . I never expected." She reached up and hugged him. He gently disengaged her.

Smiling broadly, Mary Margaret addressed Nick. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Nick? A drink, coffee?"

"No thanks, Mary Margaret."

Emma came up to him. "As I suspected, you're a rank sentimentalist. You know your interference in Spender's little romance will not be unappreciated."

"Put it down as a gesture to true love," Nick fended off Leroy who had also come up to give him a hug.

As Nick made his way through the restaurant, Nolen, Jefferson, Arry and Tina, who had all heard of what had just happened, all broke from what they doing and hugged him. He pushed them all away but seemed secretly pleased with the adulation.

_What was going on for him? He was turning into such a softie. Damn, Belle comes back into his life and he's playing matchmaker and giving out money. _

Nick was about to return to his usual place at the worktable in the Gambling Room when LeGume approached him.

"Monsieur Nick, may I speak with you?"

"Sure, go ahead."Nick smiled. _He was going to remain Casa d'Ora's most popular citizen as long as he held those letters of transit._

"Is there another place? This is rather confidential, what I have to say."

"My private office. It's upstairs." Nick led the way.

ooo-000-ooo

They mounted the stairs that were in the far corner of the restaurant and went along the balcony that looked down on the restaurant. There were two doors along the balcony. Nick unlocked the first door. It was the same room in which he first 'interviewed' Mary Margaret. The two men entered into his office and Nick gestured to two chairs. "Go ahead," he told LeGume again. _He was curious as to what tack LeGume would take._

"You must know that it is very important that I get out of Casa d'Ora. It is my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You know what I have been doing. You know what it means to the work, to the lives of thousands and thousands of people that I be free to reach America and continue my work."

_So it was to be The Great and Important Cause route. _Nick shook his head. "I'm not interested in politics. The problems of the world are not my department. I'm a saloon keeper."

Gaston waxed his most eloquent and continued, "My friends in the underground tell me you have quite a record. You ran guns to Ethiopia. You fought against the fascists in Spain."

_Thinking you might be able to connect with some appeal to my past indiscretions. I wonder how deeply you actually dug. _"What of it?"

"Isn't it strange that you always find yourself fighting on the side of the underdog?"

"Yeah, I've found that to be a very expensive hobby. But I was never much of a businessman."

Nick got up. He was dismissing Gaston. _Curious to see what card Gaston will play next._

Sure enough, Gaston was not giving up. "Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate the offer of a hundred thousand francs?"

"I'd appreciate it. But I wouldn't accept it." _Not from you._

"I'll raise the offer to two hundred thousand."

"My friend, you could make it million francs, or three, my answer would still be the same." _Not from you._

"There must be some reason why you won't let me have them?"

_There it is. _"There is. I suggest you ask your wife."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, ask your wife." _That should get his attention. . . finally._

"My wife?" Gaston was puzzled.

"Yes."

Suddenly, the men are distracted from their own conversation by the sounds of singing coming from the restaurant.

They reentered the balcony that ran along the wall overlooking the restaurant. There was a group of German officers, one of whom had commandeered Jefferson's piano. The officer had begun playing while the other officers began to sing.

"_Es braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall,  
"Wie Schwertgeklirr und Wogenprall:  
"Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, zum deutschen Rhein,  
"Wer will des Stromes Hüter sein?"_

Not quite the German national anthem, but enough that the other patrons in the restaurant sat uncomfortably, looking down at their food, at their napkins, and their laps. Nick stood by watching, but Gaston took a deep breath and moved down the stairs, reentering the restaurant. He went over to the orchestra and told them, "Play _La Marseillaise_. Play it," he ordered.

The orchestra members glanced upwards towards Nick, who nodded.

Gaston started to sing, _"__Allons enfants de la Patrie."_

The Germans continued, "_Lieb' Vaterland, magst ruhig sein_,"

A few other patrons joined in with Gaston, _"__Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"_

The Germans continued, "_Fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein!"_

The French officers now stood to join in with the singing, _"__Contre nous de la tyrannie__!"_

The Germans began to singer louder, "_Durch hunderttausend zuckt es schnell."_

Nick's waitresses began to sing, _"L'étendard sanglant est levé."_

The Germans got louder yet, "_Und aller Augen blitzen hell."_

Some of the restaurant customers joined in, _"__Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes."_

The Germans were beginning to lose ground, "_Der Deutsche Jüngling, fromm und stark."_

By now, almost everyone in the restaurant had stood and joined in, _"__Mugir ces féroces soldats?"_

The Germans continued to try to hang on, "_Beschirmt die heil'ge Landesmark_."

But the restaurant patrons were all singing loudly now, _"Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras."_

The Germans launch into the refrain, "_Lieb' Vaterland, magst ruhig sein,"_

But under Gaston's compelling presence, virtually everyone in the restaurant had risen to their feet and were continuing to sing, _"Egorger vos fils, vos compagnes."_

They were successfully drowning out the Germans.

The Germans faded out on the final line of the refrain, "_Fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein!_"

The restaurant now launched into the up-lifting refrain, _"Aux armes citoyens, Formez vos bataillons. Marchons, marchons. Qu'un sang impur__. __Abreuve nos sillons__."_

The entire café was standing up, singing, their faces aglow and proud, for the first time, in a long time, in a very long time, proud of their own heritage. French. They were French. Several patrons shouted out "Vive la France! Vive la France!"

Emma had stood back and watched. _Damn, _she thought_ LeGume is good. He's an asshole as a human being but he's great at giving people a reason to stand up for themselves. _

Spender was furious. He moved across the restaurant to confront Emma who had been one of the very few who had just stood by and watched the display. "You see what I mean? If LeGume's presence in a café can inspire this unfortunate demonstration, what more will his presence in Casa d'Ora bring on? I advise that this place be shut down at once!"

Emma protested, "But everyone is having such a good time."

"Yes, much too good a time. This place should be closed."

"But I have no excuse to close it!" Emma continued to protest.

"Find one!" snapped Spender.

Several French officers were gathered around LeGume offering to buy him drinks.

Emma reluctantly took out her police whistle and blew on it. There was a loud blast and everyone stopped to look at her.

"Everybody is to leave here immediately. This café is closed until further notice. Clear the room at once," she ordered.

There was an angry murmur from the crowd but everyone began to pick up their things, preparing to leave.

Nick was furious. He limped up to Emma, "How can you close me up? On what grounds?"

"I'm shocked," Emma told him. "Nicky, I'm shocked to find that there is gambling going on here."

Nick was stunned. At that moment, Ruby came into the restaurant and she handed Emma a rolls of bills, "Your winnings, Capitaine."

"Thank you, dear." Emma responded. "Thank you very much." She pocketed the money as Nick waved his hands in disgust. Emma did manage a weak smile at Nick.

As the café was emptying, Spender approached Belle. "Mademoiselle, after this demonstration it is not safe for LeGume to stay in Casa d'Ora."

"This morning you implied that it was not safe for him to leave Casa d'Ora."

"That is also true," admitted Spender, "except for one destination. To return to occupied France."

"Occupied France?" Belle was dismayed.

"Yes, under a safe escort from me."

"What value is that?" Belle asked him heatedly. "You may recall what German guarantees have been worth in the past."

"There are only two other alternatives for him,"

"What are they?"

"It is possible that the French authorities will find a reason to put him into a concentration camp here."

"And the other alternative?"

"Mademoiselle, perhaps you have already observed that in Casa d'Ora, human life is cheap." Spender nodded and bowed. "Good night, mademoiselle." He left as Gaston came up.

"How did it go with Nicholas?" she asked her husband, still shaken by Spender's threats.

"I'll tell you later." He seemed angry.

-0o0-

Once in their hotel room, Belle began to take off her jewelry, a simple gold necklace. LeGume went to a window to peer out. A man was standing gazing up at their room. LeGume drew the shade.

"Our faithful friend is still there," he remarked.

"Gaston, please don't go to the underground meeting tonight," Belle begged him.

"I must. It's not often a man gets to display heroics in front of his wife."

"Don't joke, after Major Spender's warning tonight, I'm frightened."

"To tell the truth, I'm frightened too. Shall I remain here in our hotel room hiding? Or shall I carry on the best I can?"

"You would carry on, no matter what I said. Gaston, why don't you tell me about Nicholas. What did you find out?"

"He has the letters."

"And?"

"But no intention of selling them. One would think that if sentiment wouldn't persuade him, then money would."

"Did he give you any reason?" Belle asked him.

"He suggested I ask my wife."

"Ask me?" Belle was puzzled.

"Yes, he said, 'Ask your wife.' Any reason why he would say that?"

Belle closed her eyes. _Oh god no! How much did Gaston know? How much did he suspect? Nicholas, why? Do you hate me that much?_

Gaston turned off the light. "By now our friend will be thinking we're retired for the night. I'll give it a little while and I'll be going."

He paused a moment standing in the darkened room and then asked, "Ilsa?"

"Yes?"

"When I was in a concentration camp, were you lonely in Paris?"

"Yes Gaston I was," she admitted. _At first. Desperately lonely._

"I know how it is to be lonely. Did you find someone to keep you company?"

Belle hesitated, "Gaston, I. . . "

"Did you and Nicholas become friends? Very good friends?"

"Gaston, I. . . ." Belle was not sure what to say. _How much did he suspect?_

She was completely unprepared when he gave her a stinging slap across the face.

"Did you allow him to touch you? To experience your body?" he demanded to know.

Belle dropped her head. "Gaston, I thought you were dead."

"And I thought you were better than that. A higher cast of woman. But here in Casa d'Ora I find out that I married an ordinary woman, a whore like every other woman. A common slut who would spread her legs for the first common, crude man who makes a play for her. Did he have you more than once? Just how much did he do with you? Were there others after him?" Gaston didn't wait for a reply.

"Well think about it my dear. Are you willing to give up a probable position as first lady of Czechoslovakia or of France for a brief, physical affair with a rather earthy, carnal individual?" As Gaston put his hand on the doorknob. "But then again, perhaps you could yet barter your favors with him and we could all benefit. If the cause we have worked so hard and so long for means anything to you, anything at all, then you might considering fucking those letters of transit away from him." He left her alone in their hotel room.

Belle went to the window. The watcher has departed. Gaston had made his way down the street, sticking to the shadows. Certain that he was gone, Belle grabbed her cloak and left the room. _She'd show him. She'd get the letters without using sex, without seducing Nicholas. She had to show him what she was capable of. She'd show them both._

-0o0-

Nick and Nolen were going over the books.

"You seem to be in pretty good shape sir." Nolen remarked.

"How long can I afford to stay closed?"

"Oh two weeks, maybe three."

"Maybe I won't have to. A bribe has worked before. In the meantime, everyone remains on salary."

"Mary Margaret will be happy to hear that. I owe her money," Nolen explained.

"Borrowing money from a woman?" Nick shook his head. "Never a good idea. Now, can you finish locking up?"

"Yes, Boss. Then I'll be going out to the meeting. . . "

Nick interrupted him. "Don't tell me where you're going."

"I won't," Nolen assured him. Nick started up the stairs to his apartment.

He opened the door to the darkened apartment. There was a figure by the window. He turned on a lamp and revealed an upset, determined-looking Belle.

"How did you get in?" he asked her. _What are you doing here?_

"The stairs from the street," she told him.

He shook his head, "Well, I know I told you this morning that you'd come around. But this is a little ahead of schedule. Won't you sit down?"

"Nicholas, I had to see you." _She had to stay strong. She had to prove herself. He had to give Gaston one of the letters of transit._

"Nicholas? So we're back in Paris?"

"Please," Belle seemed desperate. _She was._

"Your unexpected visit isn't connected by any chance to those letters of transit, is it? It seems that as long as I have those letters, I'll never be lonely," Nick appreciated the humor of the situation.

"You can ask any price you want, but you must give me those letters."

"I went through all this with your husband. It's no deal."

"I know how you feel about me, but I'm asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important."

"Do I have to hear again what a great man your husband is? What an important cause he's fighting for?"

"It was your cause too. In your own way, you were fighting for the same things."

"Well I'm not fighting for anything anymore, except myself. I'm the only cause I'm interested in."

"Nicholas, Nicholas, we loved each other once. If those days meant anything at all to you. . . "

"I wouldn't bring up Paris if I were you. It's poor salesmanship," he was not going to be swayed by her voice or her tears.

"Please, please listen to me. If you knew what really happened. If you only knew the truth ab. . . "

Nick interrupted her. His anger came through in his voice, "I wouldn't believe you, no matter what you told me. You would say anything now to get what you want."

Belle was angry with him now, "You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you? With so much at stake, all you can think of is your own feelings. One woman has hurt you and you must take revenge on the whole world. You're a weakling. A coward."

He shrugged. "I've been called that before." _But it did hurt that she had chosen to use that word._

Belle relented. _She couldn't go through with this. _"No, no, no! I'm sorry Nicholas," all the anger gone, she now had tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you are our last hope. If you don't help us, Gaston LeGume will die in Casa d'Ora."

"So what? I'm going to die in Casa d'Ora. It's a good spot for it."

He turned his back to her to light a cigarette.

He began, "Now if you. . ." when he turned around. . .

He stopped short.

Belle was holding a small caliber revolver on him.

It was pointed directly at him.

"All right. I've tried to reason with you. I've tried everything. Now I want those letters. Get them for me." _She was going to have to remained resolved. The Cause was what was important. It wasn't for Gaston, it was for the Cause._

"I don't have to. I've got them right here," he responded, pointing to his lapel pocket.

"Put them on the table," she directed him.

Nick shook his head, "No, I don't think so."

"For the last time, put them on the table," she insisted. _Oh no, he wasn't going to cooperate!_

"If Gaston and The Cause mean so much to you, you won't stop at anything. All right. I'll make it easier for you." He moved closer to her, standing in front of her. "Go ahead and shoot, you'll be doing me a favor." He held his arms out, leaving his chest an open target.

Belle dropped her hand. She had tears running down her face. _She had lost. _

"Oh, Nicholas, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life." The gun went to one side.

Nicholas pulled her to him, pressing himself against her body.

Belle sobbed out to him, "The day you left. Oh, if you only know what I went through. If you knew how much I loved you. How much I still love you."

Nick began kissing her, pressing her against him, pressing her against the table, pulling her down onto the sofa. She kissed him back, holding onto him, allowing him to pull up her dress and run his hands down her stocking-clad legs. She wrapped herself around him, pulling up his shirt from his pants, putting her hands up under the shirt, placing her hands next to his skin. He was touching her thighs, between her legs. She was ready for him. He started to fumble with his belt.

"Oh, Nicholas, I have so missed you. I love you so much," she told him. _Yes, yes, she wanted this. She had missed this so much. Nobody, nobody had ever made her feel like Nicholas._

Suddenly, Nick stopped her and himself. "No, Belle. We can't. It was different in Paris. You thought LeGume was dead. I. . ." he pulled away from her, holding her at arm's length. "I cannot make love to another man's wife. It's wrong. I won't."

"But he's my husband in name only, Nicholas. It's you I love. And you love me. I know you do." _He couldn't be stopping now?!_

"I do love you. I don't have many principles that I live by. I won't shoot a man in cold blood. And I won't do to another man what was done to me. I won't cheat with another man's wife. Not knowingly. I won't. No matter how much I love you. No matter how much I want to. Please Belle, please. Understand."

"Would it help if I told you he gave me permission to seek you out, to seduce you, to do what I had to do, to get those letters?" _Might as well let out the whole ugly truth. _

Nick bit his lip. "It makes me think less of him, if that's possible. But I can't knowingly take another man's wife, Belle, even with his permission. I can't."

Belle was sitting on the edge of his sofa. "I guess I understand." She began to re-button her blouse and sooth down her skirt. She brought her legs together and sat demurely on the sofa. "I don't like it, but I guess I understand."

_She did understand. Nicholas did have his principles. Not too many for sure, but what he held to were inviolate._

Nick pulled her back to him and held her. He brushed her hair back, touching her face and she winced. Nick caught the small movement and, ignoring her protests, turned her into the light. Gently he pulled her hair back. He could see a tell-tale faint bruise over one of her cheeks.

"That son of a bitch!" he whispered. He very carefully touched her cheek, holding his palm to the side of her face. He just held her for a long moment. His hand was wet with her tears when he finally pulled it away.

"He was angry with me," she whispered to him. "He figured out about us. He's not usually a violent man. He's never raised a hand to me before," she tried to explain away Gaston's behavior. "He's still very, very important to our cause. I don't want this to stop him. Please, please don't do anything to him for this. Promise me, please."

Nick hesitated. _He should kill the bastard. But Belle wanted his promise that he wouldn't do anything. Well, maybe, he wouldn't. But there were others that could. There might be some other ways._

"I won't hurt him, Belle. I promise," he told her, reluctantly.

-0o0-

"Tell me what happened then?" he had asked her. He had her sitting on his lap in one of the more comfortable chairs in his living area.

"I was just fifteen when I first met him, but he was already gaining a reputation. He seemed impressed with me, so as you might imagine, I was enormously flattered. He took over my education. I was taught how to walk, how to talk, how to dress, how to eat, everything. I gave myself completely over to his tutelage. It was incredible. I was a little ignorant country girl and he polished me off so that I, at least, appeared sophisticated and elegant. I thought I was madly in love with him."

"When did he marry you?" Nick was very much enjoying just holding his Belle. She was sweet-smelling and soft.

"On my eighteenth birthday. I was so honored, so excited. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive."

"You didn't think anything was wrong when he didn't. . . uh. . . consummate?"

"I was a very, very naïve little girl," Belle confessed. "He told me that he wanted to get to know me better. That he respected me and that we didn't need to have a physical relationship to truly be husband and wife."

Nick looked at her. "And you believed that?" He had put his hand into her hair and had begun to pull strands out of the tightly bound chignon she has wound her tresses into.

"I'm very embarrassed to admit it but, as I'd said, I was this very naïve little girl," Belle repeated herself. "And I did believe it. I wanted to believe it, understand. I didn't know anything else. I didn't know any better."

"When did you begin to suspect something?" He had gotten more of her hair down and was tracing the path the tresses took down her neck with his finger.

"Well understand, soon after we were married, Gaston was often away for weeks, even months. I never suspected other women, you know and I was too naïve to realize that some of the men he was with were. . . men he was with. I believed him that our marriage was somehow on a loftier plane than other relationships. Of course, you also know that I had no idea what I was missing. After two years of marriage, Gaston went to Prague. The Gestapo were expecting him. There was a two-line article in the paper. 'Gaston LeGume apprehended. Sent to concentration camp' I was frantic. For months I tried to get word. And then it came. Gaston LeGume was dead, shot trying to escape. I was so lonely. I had nothing. Not even hope." Belle smiled at him, then rested her head on his shoulder. "Then I met you."

"Why weren't you honest with me? Why did you keep your marriage as a secret?" He had gotten her hair completely unbound and was playing with it, draping it around her shoulders, threading his fingers through her hair, twining the strands around his fingers.

"Oh, Nicholas, it wasn't my secret. Gaston wanted it that way. Only our very closest friends knew about our wedding. That was his way of protecting me. I knew so much about his work. If the Gestapo found out I was his wife, it would be dangerous for me and for those working with me."

"So when did you find out he was alive?"

"Just before you and I were going to leave Paris together, that morning in fact. One of my contacts in the underground came and told me that Gaston was alive. They were hiding him in a freight car on the outskirts of Paris. He was sick. He needed me. I wanted so much to tell you, but I was afraid that if I didn't go with you, then you wouldn't leave Paris and then the Gestapo would find you and, well, you know the rest."

Nick considered. "But this story still doesn't have an ending. What about now?"

"Now, oh Nicholas! I don't know! I know I'll never find the strength to leave you again." She had placed her arms on his shoulders. Her face was so close to his. Her lips parted and moist.

"What do you want me to do about Gaston?" Nick asked her, hardly taking his eyes off her perfectly pink bow mouth. _He was remembering what those soft tender lips could do to his body. _

"Oh Nicholas, please, please, you must help him now, won't you. The cause he fights for is so important. I know you support it too. You will see that he gets out of Casa d'Ora. He'll have his work. Everything that he's worked for."

"But he won't have you."

"I can't fight you anymore. I ran away from you once, but I can't do it again. I don't know what's right any longer. You'll have to think for both of us."

Nick was silent before holding Belle close to him. "All right. I will."

"I wish I didn't love you so much." Belle told him, clinging to him like the most important thing in the world.

**A. N. For those who are familiar with the movie this is based on, Casablanca, it is in this chapter that I veer off from the script. The next chapter, the last, will have more deviations to move us to, what I hope will be, a happy ending. **

**Thanks (as always) to my wonderful reviewers: Anonymous Nerd Girl, Julie Winchester, RainMirror, Girlyemma96, Grace5231973, Guest, Leafena, Hermitess (Guest), and juju0268 (I hope I included everyone) - and to all those readers who don't review, just read.**

**And**

**To ReviewerR (Guest): we never really find out Nick's war record except for the gun-running. I also alluded to him having contacts in North Africa (which became increasingly important in WWII because of the oil reserves). **

_NEXT: Nick makes a deal_

_Belle makes a choice_

_Neal shows his hand._

_The story ends_

**But, stay tuned, I'm working on my next tale **_**Falling**_** (vaguely steampunk – I like the clothes). I just got out of a steampunk con, so I got inspired and had an entire story fall on me in about ten minutes – it's taking me a lot, lot longer to write it all down. txm **


	7. A Beautiful Friendship

_Gaston LeGume, despite being an inspirational leader for the resistance movement, is less admirable as a human being and has recently shown his true colors by striking his wife. _

_Nicholas Gold, despite being somewhat morally flexible, has demonstrated that he does have boundaries and cannot bring himself to directly destroy a marriage, even an unhappy, dysfunctional one. Even to bring himself happiness. _

_Belle French, despite believing in the cause of freedom, is caught between the great resistance leader with his offer of power and prestige and her ever-growing passion for Nicholas._

Chapter 7 A Beautiful Friendship

It was downstairs in the darkened, closed café. Gaston and Nolen had made their way into the café through one of the side doors. They were out of breath and Gaston was bleeding from his hand. The headlights of a speeding police car went by. The two men ducked below the window.

Nolan looked up at the now dark windows and said in a quiet voice, "I think we lost them."

"Yes, but I'm afraid they have caught some of the others," Gaston was not happy.

"Come on inside. I'll get us some water and see to your injury," Nolan told him.

They were only now just beginning to catch their breath.

Ooo-000-ooO

Upstairs in Nick's private apartment, Nick and Belle could hear voices. Nick crossed to the door and opened it just enough to see below. He turned off the light in his room. Belle started to go out onto the balcony, but Nick shook his head in gentle admonition and pushed her back.

He mouthed, "Gaston." She pulled back to stand behind the door.

"Stay here," he whispered and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

Nick went out of the room and went downstairs, quickly encountering Gaston and Nolen.

"Nolen what's happened?" Nick asked his maître D.

"The police broke up our meeting, Mr. Nick," Nolen began to explain. "We escaped at the last moment."

"Sorry to hear that. Nolen, I need you to come upstairs with me a minute," Nick told him.

Nolen looked at him and nodded. By long force of habit he replied, "Yes sir."

"I will need you to turn out the light to the rear entrance. It might attract police."

"But Tina always puts out that light. . ." began Nolen.

"Well, tonight, Tina forgot." Nick said curtly.

"Yes, Boss. I'll go and take care of it."

Nolen had followed Nick upstairs into the private apartment and encountered Belle. He looked back at Nick, but said nothing. _What was Gaston's wife doing in his boss's private apartment?_

Nick spoke quietly to Belle. "I'd like you to go and stay with my girls in the apartment next door. They won't have any problems finding a place for you."

"I'll be fine going back to the hotel, Nicholas. I promise you."

"I don't like you going back there. Not after what he's done," Nick spoke quietly and urgently.

"I'll be all right. It's just for one night." Belle was determined and he could see that he wouldn't be able to talk her out of it. _If he forced the issue with her, he'd be no better than Gaston. He'd have to let her make her own decision, even if he disagreed with her._

So in a low voice, Nick told Nolen, "I want you to take Miss Ilsabelle back to her hotel room."

Nolen nodded, "Of course, sir," and offered his arm to Belle. "Come with me. I'll get you back safely." He watched and waited as Nick pulled Belle to him one more time and kissed her on the mouth. Belle's hand came up around Nick's neck and head, holding him to her. There was a quiet, determined desperation in their last moments together. They broke apart and Nick watched Belle and Nolen depart.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Gaston had wrapped his wrist in one of the bar towels. He looked up to see Nick, who had come back down the stairs and was now looking questioningly at the cut wrist.

Gaston shook his head. "It's nothing. A little cut. We had to go through a window."

Nick walked over to the bar, got a bottle and a glass and poured a drink which he handed to Gaston.

"Here, this might come in handy."

"Thank you," Gaston told him and took a quick drink.

"Close one, huh?" Nick commented.

"Yes, rather," Gaston replied.

"Don't you ever wonder if it's worth all this? I mean what you're fighting for?"

"We might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we start fighting our enemies, the entire world will die."

"Then what of it? The world will be out of its misery."

"Do you know how you sound, Mr. Gold? Like a man who's trying to convince himself of something he doesn't believe in his heart. Each of us has a destiny, for good or for evil." Gaston explained to him.

"Yeah, well, I get the point." _And which destiny are you fulfilling, Gaston? _

"I wonder if you do? I wonder if you know you're trying to escape from yourself and you will never succeed."

"You seem to know a lot about my destiny."

"I know a good deal more about you that you suspect. I know for instance that you're in love with a woman. It is perhaps strange that the woman you love happens to be my wife. That first evening I came here, I knew there was something between you and Ilsa. I don't ask for explanations. I only ask, that if you won't give me the letters of transit, that you, as a favor, use them to take her away from Casa d'Ora."

"You care about her?" Nick was surprised. _For a guy who had just knocked her around, he seemed rather concerned about the woman. Or was this just another ploy, a politician's game. Gaston played the game very well, Nick would grant him that._

Before Gaston could answer, there was a crash at the door and several French officers burst in. "Gaston LeGume. You are under arrest. You will come with me."

"What charge?"

"Capitaine Swan will decide that later."

"Well, it would seem that destiny has taken a hand," observed Nick. He and Gaston looked at each other for a moment, then with dignity, Gaston crossed the room to go with the gendarmes.

0oo-ooo-oo0

It was early morning in Swan's office. Nick was sitting and smoking.

"But you don't have any actual proof and you know it. This isn't Germany or unoccupied France. All you can do is fine him a few thousand francs and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go now," Nick was making his case.

"Nicky, I'd advise you to not be too interested in what happens to Gaston. If by any chance you were to help him escape. . . "

Nick interrupted her, "What makes you think I'd stick my neck out for Gaston?"

"Well, for one thing, you bet ten thousand francs that he would escape. And two, you have the letters of transit. Oh please, don't deny it," Emma waved off his protest. "And well, you might do it just because you don't like Spender's looks. As a matter of fact, I don't like his looks either."

"Those are all excellent reasons."

"Don't count on my friendship too much Nicky. In this matter, I'm powerless. Besides, I might lose the ten thousand francs."

"You're not very subtle, but you are effective, Emma. OK, I get the point. And yes, I do have the letters, but I intend using them for myself. I'm leaving Casa d'Ora on tonight's plane."

"Really?"

"And I'll be taking a friend with me. One that I think you'll appreciate."

"And that friend would be?"

"Miss Ilsabelle French. That should put your mind at ease about me helping Gaston escape. He's the last man I'll want to see in America."

Swan sat back. "You didn't come here to tell me this. You have the letters of transit. You can leave Casa d'Ora anytime you want. You just fill in your name and hers. Why are you interested in what happens to Gaston?"

"I'm not, but I am interested in what happens to Belle and me. We have a legal right to go, that's true. But people have been held in Casa d'Ora in spite of their legal rights."

"What makes you think I'd want to hold you?" Emma asked him.

"Not me. It's Belle. She is Gaston's wife. She probably knows some things that Spender would like to know. Emma, I'll make a deal with you. Instead of having this petty charge you have against him, what if you got something really big? Something that would chuck him into a concentration camp for years? That would be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would. Germany and Vichy would be very grateful." Emma acknowledged.

"Then release him. And come to my place a half hour before the plane leaves. I'll arrange to have Gaston come there to pick up the letters of transit and that will give you the criminal grounds you can use to make the arrest. You get him. Belle and I get away. To the Germans, Belle getting away will be just a minor nuisance."

Emma was agreeable but still had some questions, "There is still something about this business that I don't understand. I know Miss Belle is very beautiful, yes. And I know you like and appreciate beautiful women, but you were never interested in any one woman before."

Nick just looked at her for a long moment.

"I see," replied Emma with understanding. _So the great and powerful Nicholas Gold was not immune to true love. _"How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"I'll make the arrangements with Gaston here and now."

"Oh, Nicky, I'm going to miss you," she laughed. "Apparently, you are the only one left in Casa d'Ora with less scruples than I."

"Oh, thanks," responded Nick, not flattered. As he rose to go into the visitor's cage to see Gaston, Nick turned, "And call off your watchdogs. I don't want them around this afternoon. I'm taking no chances, Emma, not even with you."

Ooo-000-ooO

"Oh, Boss, you are a lucky man. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes I do. I know Regina would buy this place in a heartbeat but I wouldn't like going on knowing what she'd turn it into."

It was late afternoon in the café. Nick was talking with Nolan. He was transferring ownership of Nick's Café over to him. Mary Margaret stood behind Nolan. And Jefferson was sitting nearby.

"And my agreement with Jefferson is that he gets twenty-five percent of the profits," Nick explained. Jefferson looked up, surprise showing on his face.

"I happen to know that he gets ten percent," Nolan corrected him. "But he's worth twenty-five."

"Thanks boss," Jefferson told him with a grin.

"We'll look out for him," promised Mary Margaret.

"You think I need looking after?" Jefferson asked her.

Mary Margaret nodded at him. "We do."

"And the other girls, Tina, Jesse, Arrey and Ruby? You'll take care of them," Nick had to ask.

"They'll have a job as long as they want one," promised Nolen. "You'll let me know where to send the payments?" Nolen then asked him.

"As soon as I can," Nick promised. He stopped in front of Jefferson who stood and hugged the man.

"Thank you for everything, Nick," Jefferson told him. "I wouldn't be here without you. I'll never forget you. And if ever, there is anything I can do for you. . . "

"Take care of yourself. That's all I ask for from you," Nick told him.

000-000-000

It was now night at Nick's Café. There was still a sign on the door, "CLOSED by order of the Prefect of Police."

Nick was sitting in his dark, empty café. He was at one of the tables in front of the bar, reading the letters of transit. He heard the knock on the door and put the letters into his lapel pocket. He got up to open the door. It was Capitaine Emma Swan.

"You're late," he told her.

"I was just informed that Gaston had left the hotel. I knew I'd be on time," Emma was unconcerned.

"I told you to tie up your watchdogs," he reminded her of their agreement.

"Gaston won't be followed here," she promised him.

"He better not be," Nick warned her.

"You know, Nicky, I will miss you," Emma confessed. "This place won't be the same without you."

"I'm selling the place to Nolen. He's agreeable to you continuing to win at roulette."

"Very good. But I will still miss you. Now, is everything ready?"

"I have the letters right here," Nick pointed to his breast pocket.

"Tell me. When we searched the place, where were they?"

"In my cane. It's hollow. I never leave home without it."

They heard a car drive up. In a few moments there was a rap on the door. Nick went and opened it and Belle came in. As soon as she could, Belle whispered to Nick, "Gaston thinks I'm leaving with him. You haven't told him?"

"Not yet," Nick told her.

"But it's all right isn't it? You were able to arrange everything?"

"Everything will be all right. We'll tell him at the airport. The less time to think, the easier on all of us. Please trust me," Nick whispered back to her.

"I will," she said to him.

It was a moment later that Gaston came in. "Monsieur Gold. I don't know how to thank you."

"Save it. We still have a lot of things to do."

They moved into the bar area. Emma was watching in the darkness from beneath the staircase.

"I brought the money," Gaston told him.

"Keep it. You'll need it in America," Nick brushed him off.

"But we made a deal?!"

"Never mind that. You won't have any problems in Lisbon, will you?"

"No, it's all arranged," Gaston told him.

"Good, I've got the letters right here. They're ready to be completed. All you have to do is fill in the names." Nick handed the letters to Gaston.

As soon as Gaston took the letters, Emma stepped out of the shadows, "Gaston LeGume!" She walked towards them. "Gaston LeGume. You are under arrest on a charge of accessory to the murder of the couriers from whom these letters were stolen."

Belle and Gaston were both stunned. They looked at Nick, horrified.

"Oh, are you surprised at my friend, Nicholas Gold?" Emma began. "The explanation is quite simple. Love has triumphed over virtue," Emma turned back to Nick and she froze. In Nick's hand was a gun which he had now pointed at Emma.

"Not so fast, Emma. Nobody's going to be arrested. At least, not for awhile."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" _What the hell is he up to?_

"I have. Sit down over there."

"Put that gun down," she ordered him and she tried to walk over to get the letters from Gaston, but Nick stepped toward her.

"Emma, I don't want to shoot you. But I will if you take one more step."

Emma studied Nick. The man was serious. "Under the circumstances, I shall sit down."

"Keep your hands on the table," he told her, well aware that Emma carried a variety of weapons on, in and under her uniform.

"I suppose you know what you're doing," she said to him. "But I wonder if you know what it means."

"I do. We'll have plenty of time to discuss it later."

"Call off your watchdogs you said," Emma was disgusted.

"Just the same. I want you to call the airport and tell them someone is coming with the letters of transit. Remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart."

"My least vulnerable spot," and she picked up the phone to call. They heard her say, "This is the airport, right? This is Capitaine Emma Swan. There'll be two letters of transit for the Lisbon plane. There is to be no trouble about them." There was a pause. "Very good." She hung up and looked at Nick. "Satisfied?"

-0o0-

The airport was bound in by fog. There was a voice coming over the loudspeaker.

"Lisbon plane taking off in ten minutes. East runway. The visibility is one and one half miles. Light ground fog. Depths of fog is 500. Ceiling is unlimited. Thank you."

A car drove up. Swan got out, followed closely by Nick who kept his hand in the pocket of his trenchcoat. Belle and Gaston then followed out of the car.

One of the airport gendarmes recognized Swan and saluted.

"Have the young man take care of Mr. LeGume's luggage," Nick directed Emma.

"Certainly Nicky. Anything you say,Nicky," Emma was most accommodating. She addressed the orderly, "Get Monsiuer LeGume and his luggage and take them to the plane."

"Of course, sir." The gendarme retrieved the luggage and gestured for LeGume to follow him.

"If you don't mind, Emma," Nick told her, "I'd like you to fill in the names. That will make it more official."

"You think of everything, don't you?" she asked him sweetly.

"The names will be Mr. and Mrs. Gaston LeGume."

Emma stopped dead in her tracks. Both she and Belle turn to look at Nick.

"Why not our names, Nicholas?" Belle asked.

"Gaston LeGume has _got_ to get out of Casa d'Ora. He is very important to the war and to what we are all fighting for. I want you on the plane, too. I want you out of Casa d'Ora. It's not safe here. Once you get to Lisbon you can kick Gaston to the curb or stay with him or whatever you want. But you have to get out too."

"But I don't understand. What about you?"

"I'm staying here with Swan until I'm sure the plane has gotten safely away."

"But Nicholas, after last night? What we said to each other?"

"Last night, we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. It all adds up to one thing. Gaston LeGume is getting on that plane. And Belle, I want you to get on that plane too."

"Oh no, I couldn't. I can't," she protested.

"Belle, you've got to listen to me. Do you have any idea of what we'd have to look forward to here? Nine chances out of ten, we'll both end up in concentration camps. Isn't that true Emma?"

"I'm afraid Major Spender would insist." Emma responded watching the exchange but not signing any names just yet.

"You're only saying these things to make me go," said Belle.

"I'm saying it because it's true. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not on it, you'll regret it."

Gaston had walked back up and was now also hearing the exchange.

"No, Nicholas. That's not true," Belle told him, unaware of Gaston's return. "I _would_ regret leaving you. If not today, then soon and for the rest of my life. I said I would never leave you."

Nick shook his head. "And you never will. But I've got a job to do too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be part of. Belle, I'm not good at being noble. But I don't think that the problems of three little people amount to a hill of beans in this world. Someday, you'll understand that. I can give you money and, if you want, you can leave Gaston and live your own life."

"Is this what you want, Ilsa?" Gaston spoke up and Belle was aware he was there. She stepped back and looked at both of the important men in her life.

Belle turned back to Nick, "What kind of fairy tale are you trying to hand me? No one decides my fate but me," She stood firm. "I understand want I want now. What I had with Gaston is not enough for me anymore. All the riches in the world, all the position, all the power, is nothing compared to having love."

She turned to Gaston, "Gaston, you _cannot_ give me love. I know that now. And I know that I don't want to live without love, without Nicholas. I would rather take my chances with Nicholas than live as the queen of France." Belle told him.

"So you are going to stay with him?" Gaston said. He seemed rather disgusted, but resigned.

Belle lifted up her chin defiantly. "I am."

"It won't be pleasant," Gaston told her.

Belle smiled at him slowly. "Yes, yes, it will." She went over and gave her hand to Nick.

Emma signed Gaston's name on the letter of transit and handed it to Gaston. "Perhaps I can make this easier all around." Emma made a proposal, "There has been a confrontation, shots have been fired. Gaston, I have the regrettable duty to inform you that your lovely wife was caught in the crossfire. She has died. There will be a death certificate for Ilsabelle French LeGume here in Casa d'Ora. You are both free. You are now the grieving widower who made one of the ultimate sacrifices to The Cause. You are free to marry again. . .or not."

Gaston looked at Emma. "That would give me considerable political coinage, a grieving widower who lost his wife to The Cause," he gave Emma a short bow. "I appreciate this." He then looked at Nick, "And welcome back to the fight."

On the airfield the airplane engines turned over. The propellers stared to turn. They all turned to see the plane readying for takeout.

"This time, I know our side will win," Gaston said as he turned to head off to the plane.

The three watched him walk off into the fog.

"I suppose you know this isn't going to be pleasant for any of us, especially for you Nicky. I'll have to arrest you, of course," said Emma.

"After the plane lifts off," cautioned Nick.

The sound of a car screeching up pulled their attention away from the plane. They all looked over to see Major Spender leap out of the passenger side of the car. Spender had spotted them and ran over to them. "What was the meaning of that phone call, Swan?"

"Gaston LeGume is aboard that plane," she explained.

Nick looked at Emma, suddenly realizing what had happen, "You called Spender, not the airport didn't you?"

As Emma nodded, Spender continued, "Well, why do you stand there? Why don't you stop it?"

"Ask Monsieur Gold," she told him.

Spender took a derogatory look at Nick, then stepped forward to use the phone on the corner of the wall.

"Get away from that phone," ordered Nick.

Spender stopped and looked at Nick. Nick had taken the gun out of his pocket. It was pointed at Spender.

"I would advise you not to interfere," Spender told him.

"I was willing to shoot Capitaine Swan and I'm sure as hell willing to shoot you," Nick warned him.

Spender sneered and reached for the phone.

"Put the phone down." Nick ordered.

"Get me the radio tower!" Spender shouted into the phone.

"Put it down!" Nick told him one last time.

Spender, one hand on the receiver, pulled out his pistol with the other hand and quickly and poorly aimed it in Nick's direction. He shot, but the shot went wild. Nick pulled the trigger in his own gun and Spender went down.

A second police car pulled up. Four gendarmes got out of the vehicle and ran over to their Capitaine.

Meanwhile the plane had turned onto the runway.

One of the gendarmes saluted Swan, "Mon Capitaine!"

"Major Spender has been shot!" Emma announced. She turned to look at Nick. There was a long moment. Then she addressed the policemen, "Round up the usual suspects."

"Oui, mon Capitaine." The officers removed Spender's body, leaving Swan, Nick and Belle alone together.

"You're not only a sentimentalist, you've decided to become a patriot," Emma told him.

Nick shrugged. "Maybe, it seemed like a good time to start."

Emma nodded. "I think perhaps you're right." She walked over and stood with Nick and Belle as they watch the plane take off. They watched until it disappeared into the clouds.

"Perhaps not so fast." It was Obsersleutnant Cassaday. He had rode in with Spender, driving the car, in fact, and had lagged behind. He had witnessed the entire episode from the shadows and had now come up behind the trio.

Emma turned to Nick, frantically, "Nicky, go ahead shoot him. He's Gestapo."

"So you did look through my jacket I left in your apartment. I wondered if you had," Neal turned back to Nick, "I don't think Monsieur Nick will shoot me in cold blood. I saw how he waited until Major Spender drew and shot first."

"Then give me the gun, Nicky, I'll shoot him," Emma demanded.

Neal just smiled at Emma. He actually took out his own gun and, handle forward, offered it to Emma. "I don't think you'll shoot me, Emma. You're still in love with me."

Emma expressed herself in a string of expletives. The French was fast and furious. Nick caught 'salaud' and 'enfoiré' and had the impression that Emma was suggesting that Neal do physically impossible things with himself and with his nearest relatives and, Nick thought he caught something about a monkey.

Neal continued to just smile at her. "Cut the crap Emma. When you let me in your flat after midnight and you didn't shoot me then, I knew you still loved me."

Nick remarked quietly, "Emma, you let a man into your flat after midnight? Had I only known you were such a trollop, I might have dropped by myself."

"Fuck you," Emma said to Nick, switching back to English. "And you, asshole," she had turned to Neal.

"I'm here to talk with Monsieur Gold, Emma." Neal shut her off and looked closely at the older man. "I am here to make you an offer. Monsieur Gold. I am not what I seem. I am indeed known to my superiors as Kriminalrat Cassady." He hesitated a moment, then took the plunge, "But I am also known to some other people as Agent Cassady of British Military Intelligence, Section 5. Right now we are primarily involved with feeding the German high command with false information and creating double agents. I'm one of their agents, what's known as a sleeper agent."

Neal glanced at Emma and continued, "I have been involved in the infiltration of Hitler's forces for more than a decade now. I was very young when there was the Beer Hall Putsch and Hitler got nearly a year in Landsberg Prison. I was with him at the time and got ninety days for that. The Home Office had thought he was finished after that and I had a bit of break. Nearly five years went by. I met a nice, feisty French girl that I fell madly in love with. But duty called. I was again assigned to Hitler when he testified at the trial of two Reichswehr officers. His star was beginning to rise again. That was when I had to leave you, Emma, no explanation, no contact. My Home Office had set me back on his case immediately. I have since posed as a loyal and faithful son of the Third Reich. Most recently, the Gestapo assigned me to monitor the activities of Major Spender. When they found I was here, the Home Office wanted me to try to recruit Nicholas Gold."

"I'm not used to working for anyone," Nick told him.

"You would be working mostly for yourself, just passing messages back and forth for me to my superiors. We spend of good deal of time giving the Germans incorrect information. We have a couple of contacts we'd like you to make and I know you know just about every gun runner, gasoline dealer and contraband goods provider in north Africa." Neal hesitated. "There will be plenty of business in it for you and there is a full pardon in it for you, both from the British government and that of the United States."

"Pardon, Nicholas?" Belle asked

"Yeah, Nicky, what about a pardon?" Emma had heard this last bit too.

Nick waved them off. "I got into trouble a couple of times when I was younger." He turned back to Neal, and said cautiously, "I could be interested."

"You'd primarily be freelance, which I thought would appeal to you. Running guns, other weapons, medicinal drugs, whatever there is a market for to both sides, but primary brokering information. It would be good for you two to disappear from Casa d'Ora. We'll get Belle a new identity. There is a French garrison over at Brazzaville. I might be induced to arrange passage."

"And Emma can marry us before we head out?" Nick asked.

Emma nodded. "A death certificate, new identity papers and a special marriage license?! Those will cost you plenty."

"I could use a trip. Take it out of the ten thousand francs you owe me," Nick told her.

"With what's left from that ten thousand and what you can get for selling that second letter of transit to Regina, those should go a long way in paying your expenses," Neal told him. He looked at Emma who was beginning to sputter. "I can lend you the money to pay your debt to him, if you need it," he told her.

"And what if I can't pay you back?" she asked him.

He looked her up and down, "You can work it out on your back," he told her and ignored her second string of curses. _Damn, he was going to have his hands full with her. But he wasn't walking away from her again, even if he had to carry her off. He was wondering when she would tell him about his son, but he would give her some time. _As she ranted, he thought, _Well maybe not much time. He needed to put her on a short leash. Damn, damn, damn. Love was a bitch. . . and he couldn't be happier _

Neal turned and continued with Gold, "You will need a code name. I think the boys in the Home Office have fun coming up with these. I'm _weißes Kaninchen_, or the White Rabbit."

"Really?" Gold was amused.

"Yeah," Neal took out his pocket watch and held it up. "I'm known for my family watch." He also shared, "And I have a knack for slipping down holes and coming up in strange places. Also I'm notoriously late for things."

Belle spoke up, "Nicholas, it sounds like the right thing to do. It's everything we could ask for right now." She turned and gave Neal her most brilliant smile.

Neal looked at her. _No need for Gold and Emma to know everything. He realized why the Home Office had code-named Belle French as "The Beauty_." His breathe was momentarily taken away. _Damn, Gold was one lucky son of bitch. While Belle had been with LeGume, she had been a font of information for MI5 and it didn't look like she was going to be out of the loop anytime soon._

"What's my code name then?" Nick asked, not particularly anxious to hear.

"Well, you're going to be our deal maker, so they came up with the most audacious deal maker name that they could."

"And that would be?"

"Rumplestiltskin."

Nicholas screwed up his face. "What?!"

"You heard, Rumplestiltskin."

"That's delightful. It fits," Belle told him and hugged him.

Still shaking his head, Nick said, "Well, I can only hope that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," He held out his hand to Neal and the two men shook hands.

000-The End-000

**A.N. Of course, the movie that this was (mostly) based on is **_**Casablanca**_**. In the film, Ilsa (Belle) is sent off with Victor (Gaston) by Rick (Nick) to help with the war effort (although Ilsa and Rick are truly in love) and Rick and Louie (Emma) go off to Brazzaville together ("the beginning of a beautiful friendship"). I had to tweak Gaston's character so Belle deserting him for her true love wouldn't hurt the war effort and the Allies would win again. The movie is amazing. **

**also**

**A.N. MI-5 was the British agency most involved in espionage before and during WWII (most of you are probably more familiar with MI-6, which was just a fledgling operation at this time). MI-5 had a successful operation known as Operation DoubleCross, simplified as XX and then called the Twenty Committee. They were heavily involved in the creation of double-agents and feeding the German high command false information both before and during WWII. They were quite fond of giving their agents illustrative code names, connected to their own names or their jobs. **

**Appreciate as always the wonderful feedback of my latest reviewers: Anonymous Nerd Girl,**** Girlyemma96, Grace5231973, Julie Winchester, Guest, and Hermitess (Guest). I absolutely have appreciated the feedback and help my reviewers have given me throughout this story and hope everyone enjoyed what was a personal, rather audacious, effort to retell a classic tale (and change the ending). **

**My next story is **_**Falling **_**and should be off and running within a week. Thx** **txm**


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